


After

by Ranngl



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6270136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranngl/pseuds/Ranngl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time since Strucker's experiments, Pietro wasn't fast enough. He saw the archer and he saw the child, but he could not reach them in time. And that was just the beginning. An Age of Ultron AU. Major character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Age of Ultron left us with so many possibilities when it came to some of our favorite characters that I felt compelled to write at least one of the plot bunnies jumping around in my head. Although I am a consummate Clintasha shipper, this is AoU compliant, so Laura and the kids exist and play an important role. Look carefully and squint, and you'll see some Clintasha.

He saw it in slow motion.

He saw most things in slow motion, usually as an indistinct blur as he ran.

But this time, it was sharp. Powerful. Vibrant in its enormity.

Pietro saw the spinning turret of the weapon. Saw the high-caliber bullets impact the ground just in front of him, out pacing him. He saw the archer with the child bundled protectively in his arms.

Pietro could tell that the archer saw the bullets, too, and the older man's face fell and hardened into painful resignation, acceptance, and mourning. He saw as the archer crouched, pinned down, placing his own body between the bullets and the boy.

Pietro ran, a strange panic for this near-stranger filling him. He was fast. He could get to them. He could get there and save them. It was what he did.  
He stretched out, arms pumping and legs a blur even to him. He gained ground on the bullet trail and the archer and the child grew closer. He reached out, needing to push, to connect, to block. His arms reached for the pair.

Something hot seared through his left tricep, punching through his bicep. It knocked him off balance as his eyes snapped shut in pain and tumbled into the archer and the child, the three falling gracelessly to the ground. He tucked into a roll, sliding painfully across the gravel, and suddenly, it was silent. The gun was gone. The jet was gone.  
But a child was screaming.

The wailing was close. Pietro stood shakily, clutching his left arm as blood streamed from the wound. In the corner of his vision, a red, white and blue form sprinted towards him. In front of him, trapped in the arms of the archer and laying in a spreading pool of red, the child wailed. The archer moved, spastically, as he tried to get up. His muscular legs found no coordination or purchase on the fine rubble. The scrape of the archer's boots was quiet against the child's wails.

His blurred vision focused painfully and sharply, and Pietro saw open, red wounds on the archer's back and legs. He saw the steady trails of blood trailing down his chest and abdomen, adding to the spreading red on the ground. The side of his face was crimson. A new sound came from the archer: a gasping choke of lungs filling with something other than air. Pietro was frozen as he watched and listened.

"Barton!" a sharp voice snapped Pietro's eyes up. The Captain knelt next to the archer, rolling him off the panicked child who had been pinned beneath him. Quicksilver gathered the child into his arms. He propped the archer against the tire of a nearby upturned car. "Clint!" he repeated, "C'mon, Clint, look at me!" The Captain pressed field dressings against the wounds on his torso, grabbing the archer's jaw and directing his face towards his own. Blood bubbled from the archer's open mouth, his glazed eyes struggling to focus as he wheezed. "Barton's down," the Captain reported into his comm and Pietro heard him in stereo.

"How bad?" Pietro heard at once, the male voice heavy with concern and underlying exertion. Was that Stark?

"Bad," the Captain answered, clear and distinct but trying hard to maintain it. "Real bad. Nat, get over here. Get over here now."

Pietro shook his head to clear it. The child was still screaming.

"Cap ..." the archer gasped around bloody froth.

"Clint, don't talk," the Captain commanded, but his voice cracked anyway. "Nat, where are you?"

"What the hell's going on?" It was Stark's voice, angry and panicked and demanding information. "Barton? Clint, answer me!"

Pietro clutched the child to his chest as his vision blurred again, things moving in slow motion. There was an inhuman roar nearby and then suddenly a flash of red and black came around the corner as Natasha slid knees to her knees and put her fingers to the archer's neck. "Clint, listen to me. You're going to be okay." Pietro looked at her and could tell she knew she was lying.

"Nat ..." the archer sputtered. "They're so young, Nat." Natasha froze in her ministrations, her hand hovering over his prone and bleeding body. Pietro watched the archer's lips form the words, but he didn't fully understand.

Cap sighed, closing his eyes painfully. "You're going to be fine, Clint," Cap repeated, but the archer wheezed through his words.

" ... didn't get to meet Nathan, Nat," the archer said, his eyes shifting in and out of focus on Natasha. The Captain dropped his head, breath hitching in his chest.

"Somebody better tell me what the fuck is going on!" Stark screamed over the comms, his rage palpable over the sound of his repulsers firing.

"Barton? Barton, are you hale?" a regal voice asked, grunting as he did battle elsewhere.

Once again, the child screamed.

"Get the kid on a transport!" the Captain barked at Pietro, shocking him out of his stupor. The Captain took a breath, visibly collecting himself. "Get him on a transport and get that arm looked at," he said in a quieter voice, then returned his attention to the archer.

Pietro stood, gathering the blood-streaked child in his own arms and started towards the transport. In slow motion, he saw Natasha grab the archer's hand as he sped away. " ... so young, Nat," the archer wheezed through the comms, breath gurgling.

"They'll remember, Clint," Nat promised, her voice dropping. "They'll be okay."

The archer nodded, and opened his mouth to speak but he gurgled instead. "Laura ..."

"She knows, Clint. She always knew."

"Yeah. Nat?" Pietro heard, quiet and rasping, over the comms.

"I'm right here, Clint," her voice heavy. "I'm right here."

"Nat? Tasha ... ?"

Pietro stepped onto the transport, placing the child into the arms of the child's sister, ignoring her entreaties. A paramedic approached him, but he waived them away.

There was a silence on the comms, then a soft, strained, "Clint?". Then louder, "CLINT!"

There was a couple seconds where Pietro didn't breathe. Then he heard the Captain's soft, "Barton's down," echo over the otherwise silent comms. "He's gone."

There were screams over the comms, of rage, of disbelief, of grief. Pietro ripped the comm out of his ear and crushed it under his shoe, stomping into dust in a blur. He looked down at the pieces on the floor.

All was quiet. The child had stopped screaming.


	2. Chapter 1

After the silence, they would not leave his side. They had been relegated to the only private space remaining in the infirmary of the Helicarrier -- a small side room in the morgue, its white-washed walls reflected dully on the brushed steel table. Clint's body laid on that table, shirtless and gruesome, his chest and torso pock marked with the exit wounds from the large-caliber turret gun on the Quinjet. Part of his right ear was missing from where a bullet had clipped him and the remaining was a pulpy mass.

The medical teams had already cleaned him up, but the damage was clear. The bloody rivulets were gone, but the damage was grisly to behold. Crusty red stuck in the lines in the archer's face and in his body, making them stand out against the waxy gray tone of his skin. He looked impossibly old laying there and nothing at all like the warrior who had piloted them to Sokovia only hours ago. He was completely changed.

Pietro and Wanda stood silent in the back of the room, awkwardly clinging to one another. Natasha glared at anyone who came near. Thor's silent guardianship of the Hawk's body warded off anyone else. Tony had initially joined them in the room, but had turned on his heel to pace in the hallway immediately outside upon seeing Clint's body. They didn't know where Banner even was, having flown off with the Quinjet after the battle.

Word had spread throughout the Helicarrier that Hawkeye had fallen in battle and some personnel and Sokovians had come to pay their respects. They had all halted at the frantic, angry pacing of Tony Stark in the hallway and his furious glare had sent each visitor turning on their heels, their crutches, or however else they were upright. Hill eventually established an effective no-fly zone around the team.

The team surrounded Clint's still body as Natasha threaded the limp arms through one of his additional tactical vests. She was determined that Clint would not go back to Laura as a body on a slab; he would go back the hero that he was. She blinked past the unfamiliar blurriness in her eyes.

Steve slumped over in his chair, elbows braced on his knees. He watched dully as Thor stepped forward, lifting Clint's torso easily so that Natasha could more easily get the vest around his shoulders. "We need to call his wife," Steve sighed into the quiet as he scrubbed at his face with his hands. He heard Tony stop in his tracks through the open door to the hallway.

"That's not your call to make, Captain," Fury said, stepping up from where he had been silently watching Natasha's ministrations.

Stark stormed back into the room. His face and eyes were red and it was clear he was looking for something to punch but simply hadn't found the right target yet. "We're not *calling* her," he seethed. "We're not just going to open up a chat to let Clint's pregnant wife and kids know that Daddy's ..." he halted, throat suddenly constricting. He remained silent.

Thor's deep voice drew their attention. "He will be carried into Valhalla," he said, nodding gravely. " Tales of his bravery and prowess in battle will be sung for ages. I will see to it that he has a place of honor in Odin's ... "

"Stop." Natasha's stern command halted all conversation and silenced the room. Fury straightened from where he leaned against the wall and Rogers looked up from his seated position. She stood, arms braced against the table, staring into Clint's closed eyes. "We will go to the farm. We will speak with Laura in person." She stood and she met eyes with Steve. "We will not tell her of Valhalla," she said, locking eyes with Thor. "Clint didn't want Valhalla. He wanted his family and he wanted his friends." She spoke low, her knuckles whitening from her grip on the table. "That is what we're going to give him. And when Laura is ready, we will bury him where he wanted: under the oak tree in his front yard." Her voice cracked as she finished, and she turned on her heel and strode out of the room. The team watched her go, Tony stepping aside as she brushed by him. Their gazes followed her as her steps quickened slightly the further she got down the hall.

Hill's voice, heavy and tired, broadcast through the room. "Sir."

Fury continued to look at Clint's body as he answered. "Hill."

"Coordinates set, sir. On-board Quinjet is being prepped and the pilot is standing by."

"Right. If the Quinjet left now, what would be the ETA?"

"Quinjet would arrive at the coordinates in approximately 6 hours and 17 minutes."

Fury wiped his face with his hand. "Thank you, Hill." He turned to the team, his face and stance fallen. He looked surprisingly old. "Take the Quinjet. Go to the farm. I'll join you when I can." Steve nodded and Fury followed Natasha, striding out of the room swiftly, jaw clenched and fists tight.

*******

The inside of the SHIELD Quinjet was still as it piloted through the airspace of upstate New York. The Avengers had assembled in the back, strapped in and too quiet. Thor held the hammer loosely in his hand as he stood, rocking in time with the motions of the aircraft. The others had changed into civilian clothes, their battle garb too disshelved and blood-stained. Thor approached Steve, clad in a pair of khakis and a shirt with a sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He stood rigidly behind the SHIELD-issued pilot as he stared out of the cockpit windscreen. His jaw pulsed with clenching and unclenching.

Steve looked over his shoulder as Thor approached, glancing quickly at the assembly in the back. Natasha sat the furthest in the back, strapped in and face closed but impassive. She appeared casual in her simple pants and fitted jacket, but neither Thor nor Steve missed the puffiness of her eyes and the poorly-buried stiffness in her spine. Tony sat in the middle of the cargo bay, his head in his hands as he stared between his knees. His shoulders heaved rhythmically as he took deep breaths and exhaled strongly. He glanced up occasionally to stare into the middle distance, his eyes red-rimmed and wet. The twins sat silently, huddled together, holding hands and avoiding all eye contact. Thor thought they looked powerfully like the children they still were. Vision had remained on the helicarrier, excusing himself by stating he could do more good on the ship rather than at their appointed task. He had stood, rigid and silent as his mechanical blue eyes observing and surveying the scene like some self-appointed guard as they boarded the Quinjet. It was awkward and vaguely disconcerting but Steve had appreciated his attempt.

"Coulson brought us together," Steve said quietly and Thor turned his head to look at him. "This may tear us apart. Losing our eyes ... losing Clint ... "

Thor grunted quietly. "This is indeed a great blow. We will not be the same, nor should we be. But Barton would not have wanted this to destroy us."

"No, he wouldn't have," Steve agreed, dropping his head but looking up at Thor through the hair at his hairline. "But I wonder if Clint was the only thing holding us together." Steve's thought carried more than he intended and Tony's head snapped up, eyes narrowing at Steve and Thor's conversation. Pietro closed his eyes as if in pain. Natasha remained stiffly unmoving, but she exhaled in a hiss.

Steve looked down to his hands and then turned again towards the windscreen and Thor followed his gaze. "He was our eyes in the sky and protected our backs."

Thor nodded gravely, following Steve's gaze out the windscreen as the Quinjet started a slow descent in preparation for landing. "Laura Barton is not expecting the news she is about the receive." Steve tensed further at Thor's words, lines appearing around his youthful eyes. Thor did not miss that. "You are apprehensive about this meeting with her?"

Steve snorted humorlessly. "I've lost soldiers before," Steve said quietly. "I've given this news before. I'm not worried about being able to handle it."

Thor nodded once, decisively. "Of your ability I have no doubt," he rumbled quietly. "But he is ... was no mere soldier. I do not believe that this is a easy situation for you." He dropped his head to gaze at the hammer in his hand and his voice went softer. "It is not easy for me. It is ..." his voice caught in his throat and he swallowed heavily. "It is difficult for all of us."

Steve nodded. "Natasha hasn't said a word since they laid out his body, his chest looking like swiss cheese. Tony looks like he's either going to rip someone's head off or curl into a ball. Possibly both. Bruce is gone, ran away from the entire situation. You appear unaffected but you haven't put the hammer down since we got back to the Helicarrier. Your knuckles are white in your grip. And Wanda and Pietro ..."

Thor looked at the twins, still leaning against one another in the cargo hold looking vaguely like dogs expecting to be kicked at any moment "Yes. The twins," he acknowledged.

Steve looked over at them. "They're tough. I wasn't going to leave them behind. I'm not denying them their opportunity to," Steve trailed off, "I don't know, come to terms? Try to make things right? Pietro ... well, he blames himself."

Thor nodded slowly, looking down. "You are correct. I indeed grieve deeply for the loss of the Hawk. And I too am concerned about our friends. But what you of you, my friend? You speak of everyone on the team except yourself."

Steve sighed deeply, scrubbing his face with his hand. " I need a team. Sometimes I wonder if Barton's eyes and smart mouth weren't the only things keeping us fighting the bad guys and not each other. We won the battle, but we lost too much. I guess more than ever, I need us to be a team."

Thor nodded. "Then a team we shall be."

Thor and Steve watched as the farm came into view through the windscreen as the pilot descended. Two very small figures on the ground stopped chasing one another as they heard the jet. They turned and scampered inside. Steve closed his eyes as the SHIELD Quinjet landed with a bump and then settled. Tony's head snapped up and he stared in open horror at the long grass that became visible as the ramp lowered. Natasha stood woodenly, appearing to have to remind herself to put one foot in front of the other as lead the way down the ramp, through the grass towards the fence line and the house beyond it. The twins followed closely behind, Wanda's arm wrapped around Quicksilver's waist, supporting them both.

Laura met them on the front porch. Her smile had faded to concerned confusion as she watched the Avengers file up to her outside her front door. Her dark hair waved around her face in the breeze, "I heard the jet," she said by way of explanation. "The kids are ..." her steps hesitated and faltered, looking from face to face, acknowledging the new ones but not finding her husband's. "Where's Clint?" she asked quietly, lips pressing together and color draining from her face.

Steve stepped in front of her, his face similarly pale. "Mrs. Barton, I have news about Clint ..."

Laura shook her head and stepped back, putting her hand up to silence Steve. "No. Stop." Natasha slid forward from Steve's right and Laura looked at her, tears already gathering in her eyes as she looked into Natasha's wooden face. "Nat?" she breathed.

Natasha's face faltered as she put her hands on Laura's elbows and stared into her wide brown eyes. "He saved the world, Laura. He literally saved the world."

Laura nodded, her breath coming quicker. "How?" she whispered.

"Laura Barton," Thor began as Laura's eyes flicked to him, "Hawkeye's bravery in the face of ..." Steve silenced him with a hand on the shoulder.

Natasha guided Laura to a chair on the front porch and knelt in front of her. "There was a little boy," Natasha began and Laura reflexively put a hand to her round belly.

"His name was Costel," Pietro's voice cut in, hesitant and quiet.

Natasha continued. "There was an aircraft-mounted ballistic. Clint shielded the boy. He saved him."

"Aircraft mounted?" Laura breathed, hand coming up to rub at a small scar on her forehead before looking imploringly at Natasha. "Where is he? Was there anything left of him? Anything left for me ... " tears spilled out of her brown eyes as they flicked to the oak tree in the yard.

Quick footsteps echoed on the wooden floors of the home inside the storm door. The door flew open as Cooper and Lila bounded out, their eagerness to see their father and his team again shining on their faces. Cooper stopped suddenly upon seeing his mother and his Aunt Nat, looping his arm around Lila's shoulders to prevent her from leaping into the situation. Tony made a tortured noise deep in his throat and scrubbed his face with his hands. Quicksilver gasped, turning from the scene as Wanda rubbed his back with her hand, staring in grief-stricken horror at the brother and sister pair.

"Mom?" Cooper asked, feeling strange with the press of large adults around him. "Aunt Nat? What's the matter?" He looked at the group on the porch. "Where's Dad?"

"Hey Coop," Laura said shakily, "take Lila inside for a bit." She gave a watery smile. "I'll be in in a minute." She turned towards Natasha as Cooper hustled a protesting Lila inside. Steve hovered protectively behind Natasha. "Nat? Is there anything left for us to bury?" she breathed.

Natasha's wooden face splintered into grief and her eyes watered. She wrapped her arms around her friend. "Yes, Laura. Yes, there is. We'll bring him to you." Laura nodded against Natasha's shoulder, her breath coming quick. "Then we can put him under the oak tree overlooking the house. He always loved that oak."

Laura nodded again as the two women breathed into each other's shoulders, taking comfort from each other's familiar presence. The summer wind blew through the front porch and they could hear the rustle of oak leaves over the quiet. A long moment later, Laura straightened and stood from the chair, Natasha by her side. She nodded once and swallowed. "Excuse me," she said to the team. "I have to ..." she paused, trying to find the words and failing. "The kids." Natasha grabbed her unsteady arm and escorted her through the front door.

The team stood mute and shaken on the front porch. The warm summer day had cooled with a stiff breeze and the coming dusk had made the shadows lengthen. Pietro picked at a piece of loose paint on the railing before Tony's glare stopped him. There were low voices from inside and a young voice broke the silence, loud and panicked. "No!" the girl screamed. "No! You're lying. You're liars! Why are you lying?"

"Lila, Honey," Laura's voice cut through.

"No! You're liars!" 

The little girl came tearing through the front door, the storm door slamming back against the siding of the house and snapping back. She ran past the team and ignored Thor's, "Young Lila!" as she tore off into the barn.

Another voice came from inside, slightly deeper and older. "I don't get it, Mom. What happened? What did I do? Is it because I played with his computer? He told me not to, but I did it anyway. Is that why he's not coming home?"

"Cooper, honey, no. That's not why. He ..."

"But if that's not why then why? What did I do?" Copper's voice became higher pitched as he became more panicked.

"Cooper," Natasha's voice cut in, "Coop, come here."

"No, Aunt Nat," his voice rose, breaking. "I didn't get a chance to say I was sorry! I knew I shouldn't have, but I did anyway!" Listening outside, Tony grunted again and looked down at his shoes and he felt his stomach drop. Wanda and Pietro hugged one another, Wanda's head pressed to Pietro's chest. Steve sat down heavily on the front porch steps, looking determinedly at anywhere but his hands.

"Cooper, you didn't do anything!" Laura's voice raised to be heard over her son's. "It's not your fault, honey. You didn't do anything."

The boy began to sob. "Then why isn't he here? Why did he die? What did I do? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, what did I do?" 

His voice trailed off around his sobs, as his mother's voice took up a different mantra. "Coop, honey, no. You didn't do anything. No, no, no, honey. You didn't do anything. Your Daddy loved you. I love you. Aunt Nat loves you. We're here. It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

Steve stood abruptly and walked towards the oak tree in the front yard overlooking the house. Ducking under the low-hanging branches, he placed his hand on the rough bark of the tree. Laura's broken but soothing mantra carried even out here. "Jesus, Clint," Steve said, punching the trunk hard enough that the entire tree shook. "Jesus, Clint. How do we come back from this? How do we get to the place we were?" He sat at the base of the tree and was surprised to find his cheeks wet. "Where do we go from here?"

*******

TBC


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Many thanks to those who have taken an interest in this fic. It makes my heart warm. :-) The team is going through some tough stuff right now and I wrote this fic, in part, after losing someone close to me. I promise, though, that it there will be some comfort in this hurt/comfort piece. We have some things to work as we get there, though. As always, please enjoy.

 

After  
Chapter 2

Steve had remained sitting under the oak tree watching his team disperse around the property and waiting as the sun went down. Thor had gone to seek out "Young Lila" to ensure she was safe, Tony had wandered into the barn, and the twins had sat stiffly on the porch, looking like they knew they were quite out of place. They were all unwilling to intrude on the very personal suffering that had suddenly blanketed the house. He felt the rough bark against his back as, an hour and a half later, Natasha opened the storm door, closing the front door behind her as she walked onto the front porch. She stood with her hands on her hips, face still closed and impassive despite the red rimming her eyes. She met Steve's gaze, green peering into blue, and stepped off the porch. He watched her as she walked towards him, her usual graceful prowl underscored with an intense weariness that he usually only saw from her when she was wounded.

"How are they?" he said over the emerging crickets as she got closer, settling herself next him, her back also on the wide trunk of the oak tree.

She shrugged woodenly. "I finally got her to rest a little. She's in Cooper's room with him. I tried to get her to go in her room, but she ..." Natasha's voice stopped suddenly, her voice tightening. She sighed. "She didn't want to be there without him." Steve studied Natasha's face, somehow so closed off and yet so expressive to the ones she allowed to know her. "She's most worried about Coop and Lila. They're so young."

"We'll help her with them. We'll help them through this."

Natasha smiled side-long at him. "I'm sure. I just want to make sure she remembers to take care of herself, too."

Steve sighed, dropping his gaze to the oak leaf he turned in his hand. "Why didn't Clint tell me about this?" he gestured to the house with his hand. The wind still blew and the night insects still chirped, oblivious to the sorrow that had fallen over the farm. "About Laura, about the kids? I could have ..."

Natasha's eyes darted to his. "Done what, Steve?" she asked, voice firm but kind. "Protected him? Assigned him to more stable positions? Treated him like a junior member of the team?" Steve winced, recognizing the truth of her statements. "That's one of the reasons why. He saved my ass more times than I can count, and saved each member of the team several times over. He fought in order to protect his family and not letting him do that would have meant the team would have been short his skills. And mine." Steve's gaze snapped to hers again and there was a flash deep within her eyes. He looked past her to where the SHIELD Quinjet had lifted off from the copse of trees to return to a nearby base to await further instructions. He took in the idyllic expanse of the farm, the high grass waving pinkly in the dusk, the lightening bugs starting to appear in the darkest corners and shadows. It didn't seem right, somehow, that everything was so beautiful. Didn't they know a family had fallen apart?

Natasha sighed again and dropped her head against the rough bark. "The only thing Clint loved more than the team and the job was his family." She focused on the oak leaf Steve turned in his hand. "He didn't have a lot of memories of his parents, and the ones he did have were filled with," she paused, contemplating how much to reveal, "well, they weren't good. He wanted a different life for his kids. A life where they felt safe. A life where his wife could have her own accomplishments." She reached over and plucked the leaf out of Steve's hand, studying the fine lines of green-on-green in the fading light.

"What about you, Romanoff?"

Natasha smiled slightly. "What about me, Rogers?"

"Who's going to help you while you help them?"

The lines tightened around her mouth in a near-smile. "I can handle my own. But that's the thing about a team, Steve. They're always around if you need them." She stood, handing the leaf back to Steve as she walked back towards the house. Steve watched her go, seeing how relaxed she was in this place despite everything. He realized with a start that this was the only place that Natasha called home. And the man who gave it to her was gone. Steve dug into his back pocket, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. It wasn't much, but it would do.

He began his sketch with the long, straight lines of the front porch.

*******

Thor was mighty. The Oldest Son of Odin had slain many frightful monsters and had sent many great enemies to Hel. But humans, specifically human children, confounded him. They were all so small. And usually underfoot.

His heart was heavy this evening. He had known the Hawk had the bravery and skill of any Asgardian warrior, but it wasn't until this day he realized how much Barton truly risked each time he went into battle. Thor had thought himself the mightiest of the Avengers, but Barton's willingness to go into the fray to protect other people's children -- in Thor's mind, that was beyond simple bravery.

Thor walked through the wooded area, wishing that one particular human child would appear and be underfoot shortly. Thor had heard Laura Barton calling for her daughter as night fell, and he had taken it upon himself to find Young Lila. Laura, eyes watery and still slightly unsteady on her feet, had thanked him and pointed him to the woods where the girl often played. Thor had approached, Mjolnir hanging loosely from his hand.

In Asgard, warriors often had spouses and children of their own, but he had not seen much of that on Midgard. Barton's secrecy about his family had initially confused him and had hurt his ego, but as he searched the woods for the Hawk's daughter, he realized with pride that he was one of the select few to know of this place and its relation to their Hawk.

As Thor walked his steps loudly cracked twigs and branches that were on the ground. He was unfortunately not a stranger to the grief of losing a brother-at-arms. He knew well the cankerous pit of grief that could overwhelm at a moment's notice. His heart ached and he felt somewhat dazed as he stumbled to a stop in the underbrush. Flashes of Hawkeye's prowess danced in front of him -- of acrobatics, of a perfectly placed joked to lighten the mood, of a battle clearly instigated in order to relieve tension. Mjolnir unexpectedly dropped to the ground from his limp hand, and he looked down, confused, as if wondering how it got there.

A sharp noise in the leaves snapped his head up just in time for a sharp rock to hit him on the nose, the pain shooting behind his eyes. Mjolnir sprung to his hand. "Who would dare attack Thor Odinson!" he bellowed as he tightened his hold on the hammer and peered into the darkening underbrush. Another rock came from above, its hard edge striking him in the chest as another, larger, rock slammed into his nose again before he could react. He raised his free hand to his nose, feeling it throb and a thin line of blood trickle out. "Show yourself!" he cried, resigned and annoyed that his voice came out pinched and nasal. He held Mjolnir aloft in one hand and pinched the bridge of his bleeding nose in the other.

"NO!" a small but defiant voice answered him from high up in the trees. "You go away!" It was the voice of a Young Barton.

Thor lowered Mjolnir to the ground and looked up into the nearby tree. Squinting against the darkness, he saw a pair of round brown eyes peering at him, one of a pair of braids over her shoulder. "Ah, so it is Young Lila to whom I speak. Come down, child. I will not harm you."

Thor saw her arm raise to throw, her small hand no doubt clutching another rock. "No. Go away," she said.

"Come now, child," Thor rumbled nasally. "You have your father's aim and his arm." At the mention of her father, the child's eyes opened wide and for a split second her sadness shone through her anger. He lowered himself to one knee, hiding an indulgent smile. "You have bested me in single combat. It is ... bad form to deny me the right to gaze on the face of the warrior who has vanquished me."

Confused silence met his proclamation, but after a couple of seconds, Thor heard the soft scratching of sneakers on tree bark. He watched as Lila climbed lithely from the tree finding footholds in nearly invisible notches. Upon reaching the ground, she stood stiffly below the tree, arms crossed over her chest. There were tear tracks in her dirty face as she leveled a hefty glare at Thor.

"Come here, Little One," Thor said from one knee. "I wish to talk to you."

Lila didn't move. If anything, her glare deepened and she became as wooden as the tree behind her. "I'm not that little," she protested.

Thor smiled slightly past his grief. "Ah, child. You are all little to me. Now come. I would speak with you." Lila took three hesitant steps forward, her eyes never leaving Thor's. Young brown met ageless blue. Then she stopped in her tracks, once again becoming wooden.

"Are you going to lie to me, too?" she asked.

Thor felt his heart drop and the cankerous ache open in his chest again as a physical blow. "I do not lie, child," he said, dropping his hand from nose to reach out to the child. Lila approached hesitantly, arms crossed over her chest, but stayed just outside his reach. He nodded, not wishing to rush the child and dropped from one knee to his rear end, sitting with his legs tented in front of him. His arms rested on his knees and Mjolnir resting on the ground by his side. "There," he rumbled, "now we are both small."

A ghost of a smile lit up Lila's face, and Thor joyed to see it before his heart again clenched painfully and his face pinched. He recognized that smile and he suddenly realized that he would never see that smile again on the face of this girl's father. "Why do you think I would lie to you?"

The child's smile disappeared. "Mommy did. And Auntie Nat did. They never do, but they did when they said ..." the child's breath hitched and the tears started again, tracing new tracks through her dirt-covered face. She scrubbed them away. Lila didn't finish her thought, only looked at the ground and pulled apart the end of her braid.

"I have known your mother only briefly, Young Lila, but she strikes me as forthright and honest. Why do you believe she is lying?"

Lila's head snapped up and the glare returned. "Because Daddy always comes home! Because Auntie Nat is here and she almost never visits without Daddy!" Lila began screaming and her eyes filled with tears as she wound herself up. "Because you and Captain Steve and Mr. Stark are here and you're Daddy's team!" she sniffled, rubbing her running nose on the sleeve of her shirt. "Because you left with Daddy and if Daddy's not coming home, it's your fault!" Thor understood the child's words came from a place of anger rather than from any reason, but they still struck deep and he gasped despite himself. "But it can't be your fault because you're the good guys so he has to come home!" She screamed again, anger and rage filling her voice as she hiccupped from her sobs, her face screwed up and bright red. "Because he gave me a kiss like he always does and he told me he loved me and sometimes he's gone for a long time and sometimes he comes home hurt so we can't climb trees for a while but he ALWAYS COMES BACK!!" her small voice carried through the woods. Thor say stunned, watching the child scream and sob herself speechless.

"Young Lila," he said, reaching out a large hand to her again.

"No!" she snapped at him, eyes flashing. "You're going to lie, too!" She spun on a heel and took off through woods back to the house.

"Ah, Young Barton," Thor sighed from his seated position, trying to understand the grief-stricken logic of a young mind. He watched her vault downed trees and other brush, slipping through once invisible breaks in the brush as she raced back to the comfort of her home. "Mjolnir is of no use here. How I wish I could help."

 

TBC. Please review.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you again to all who are following this story. It's nice to know people are enjoying it. Please don't forget to leave a review or send me a message.

After

Chapter 3

Nick Fury heard his footsteps echo off the wooden steps of the front porch. The scene was off and, despite knowing full well why, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Parker had his "spider sense". Fury had his "You're damn right I'm paranoid" sense.

Fury's good eye darted around the porch and yard, trying to find something off about the familiar farm. He listened closely to his surroundings. The birds were chirping undisturbed. The wind was blowing through the trees and the grass like it should. He heard the Quinjet lift off from where it had dropped him off only a day behind the Team.

Then Fury recognized the problem. There were no sounds of kids playing in the woods. No sound of home improvement or the breathy thunk-thunk-thunk of arrows hitting a target. There was no full belly laugh from Laura, no surprising giggle from Natasha, no annoying heh-heh-heeeeh from Barton. Fury scanned the house again, taking in the porch spindles still in need of repair, the bushes needing to be trimmed. This was still a house of love. But it was in mourning.

And so was Nick Fury. He rapped sharply on the door frame twice before pulling open the storm door and striding into the foyer. He first saw the twins standing huddled together just on the edge of the dining room. They clung to one another, hands and arms intertwined, leaning on one another for support. Fury wanted to have the energy to worry about them. Wanda must be happy about the survival of her brother, but it had led to the death of her proto-mentor. Pietro ... well, for the first time since before Strucker, Pietro simply wasn't fast enough.

But instead of worrying, Fury found that he just didn't give a shit about the twins right now. If Coulson had been his good eye, Barton had been ... well, that was complicated. "Pain in the ass" fit best, but didn't quite convey the full picture. Barton and Romanoff, in their own way, reminded him of why he got into this work to begin with. That redemption was actually possible.

Rogers sat at the kitchen table, elbow propped on the table, chin resting in his hands. Thor stood stiffly off to one side, shifting from foot to foot. The hammer rested on the kitchen counter. The kids and Stark were nowhere to be found. Natasha and Laura sat side by side, arms touching and heads bowed over some paper or another. Laura leaned conspicuously against Natasha and Fury realized quickly that he had interrupted something as mundane as funeral planning.

It sounded like the beginning of an intensely macabre joke: A Norse God, a super soldier and two Widows walked into a funeral ...

Fury intentionally stepped on the squeakiest floor board as he made his way into the dining room. Roger's and Thor's heads snapped up, accepted his sudden appearance, and nodded at him. Natasha didn't look up except to throw him an acknowledging eyebrow raise. She had likely been aware of him the moment he crossed into the yard from the hay fields. Natasha nudged Laura's arm, who looked up at him.

"Laura ..." Fury said, voice heavy. Laura Barton stood shakily from her seat at the kitchen and walked into Fury's outstretched arms. Fury enveloped her, her head buried into his shoulder.

"Tell me it was worth it, Nick," she sighed, breath hitching again as tears once again fell down her face. "Tell me it was worth it. I need to hear it. My kids need to know."

"He helped save the world, Laura," Fury said, closing his eye and leaning into Laura's embrace. "You always knew it was worth it."

The twins behind him shifted uncomfortably as they watched the woman cry against Fury's chest. Fury peered over Laura's head to see that Rogers had put his head back in his hands. Thor had turned away from the moment to give them some semblance of privacy or perhaps to hide his own emotion, Fury didn't know. Natasha had sat up rigidly in her seat. "Our kids, Nick," Laura continued, her sobs growing as she wrapped her hands around Nick's back. "They'll never know. Nate will never know ..." Natasha's breathing hitched.

Fury turned his head over his shoulder, looking into Wanda's shimmering blue eyes. "They'll know, Laura," Nick said, staring meaningfully at Wanda who was still clutching on to her twin. He held her gaze. "They will remember. They will know." Wanda's eyes and mouth widened in surprise as she took Fury's meaning and she glanced around. Meeting Pietro's eyes, she realized that they were the only two who had outwardly noticed the non-verbal exchange. She nodded once, allowing a tendril of red to enter her eyes.

Fury nodded once and closed his eye as Laura Barton sobbed against his shoulder. For a few moments, he simply stood there comforting his good friend before opening his eye again. Natasha was still looking at the papers in front of her, but Pietro was looking antsy and seemed desperate to have something to do. Thor was trying not to meet Fury's gaze, instead looking off into the middle distance. Rogers met his gaze. Fury recognized soldiers out of their element before. And soldiers could do a lot of damage to themselves without direction. They were desperate for orders.

"A man has died," Fury barked suddenly. Eyes flew up to him immediately. "Why the hell isn't anyone cooking?" Laura began to pull away at his pronouncement, but he held against him as her sobs began to subside. Pietro, surprisingly, stepped up, flashing Fury a deeply grateful look. He walked to the kitchen and began opening cabinets and cupboards, ingredients and materials flying to the countertop in a blur. He opened the fridge and grabbed some greenery.

"I can do this!" he said, accent heavy. Happy to be of use, he grabbed potatoes from the pantry, holding them up in triumph. "This! This, I can do."

*******

"SHIT!" Stark cursed, the echo bouncing off the high wooden beams of the barn. He slammed the heel of his right hand against the hood of the John Deere tractor, his left hand bleeding from a gash across its back. "Goddamn piece of shit," he said as he reached for an old rag to stem the flow of blood. What he wouldn't give for a drink right now, but, having spent the entire night working in the barn, he had not yet been in the house. He looked forward to whatever good thing Barton must have stocked in that farm house fortress of his.

"Mom says we shouldn't swear. At least not until we're older."

Tony jumped at the sound of the voice, frantically looking around to find Cooper staring at him from the doorway.

"Yeah? Well, your mom's right. Not until you're older," Tony said, turning his back on the child and peering back into the inner workings of the tractor. "This thing is ancient."

Cooper walked up beside him, standing on his tip-toes to look into the tractor. "Yeah," he said, his eyes flicking to Tony. "We don't use it anymore. Not since Dad got back from New York a couple years ago. After the Chitauri came."

Tony looked at him. The team had been told that Clint had been assigned to a deep cover mission after the Battle of New York. They had protested at the time. He was still clearly recovering from being mind-fucked by Loki, but Clint, and Natasha, surprisingly, had insisted on the mission. He had been gone several months.

"Dad said that after the Chitauri he wanted to shore up the house more. Said it was more important to protect us than to grow some corn."

"Protect you?"

"Yeah," the boy said, looking at Tony from feet away, his hands buried deep in his pants pockets. Tony suddenly realized how close the child was and took several steps away from him. "Dad said that he protects people from the bad guys. That it was his job." Cooper took another step towards Tony and looked at him.

The boy's eyes were filled with unshed tears, and Tony backpedaled, unwilling to be in close proximity. "That's what you do, too, right? You're Iron Man."

Tony nodded stiffly, his lips parted and jaw agape, shocked at the boy's observations.

"Who's going to protect us now, Mr. Stark?" Cooper asked, sighing unevenly. "I guess Aunt Nat and Mom will."

"They will," Tony said through a swollen throat. "And we will, kid," he choked. "You'll be safe. I promise."

Cooper looked at him again, eyes brimming with tears. He wiped his nose against his arm and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and tremulous against the stillness of the barn. "Why did Dad leave?"

Tony inhaled sharply and stared at the child, dumbfounded. He took a step forward towards Cooper. "He didn't leave you ... or us, kid. He was saving the world. He was saving you."

Cooper nodded, but moved around Tony to the work bench behind the tractor. As Tony worked all night, he had pulled out the various parts and tools that had been lying around in an effort to make things within reach. Cooper pulled out the step stool and climbed up, beginning to sort the various tools into different categories. The closeted expanse of the barn seemed to stretch between them as Tony noticed dust motes highlighted in the summer sun through the open door. Tony moved along to the side of the child, watching as he moved tools into various categories by uses. "Mom says it's okay to cry," he said quietly, not looking at Tony.

Tony blinked at the child's nonsequiter and gasped when Cooper looked up at him with a tearful gaze. Tony felt the emotion he had tamped down in his chest rise to his throat and his eyes began to water.

"Is it my fault?" Cooper asked.

Tony's heart dropped into his stomach. "What? No. Don't be stupid, kid."

Cooper's next words came fast and jumbled, and Tony had to restrict himself from grabbing the kid to slow him down. "But I didn't do my chores like he said. I pulled Lila's hair like he told me not to. I haven't been helping mom like he asked me to!" Cooper again looked at Tony, tears streaming down his face. "Is that why he died?"

"Dammit, Cooper, no," Tony crouched down next to him, grabbing the child by the shoulders. "You know that's not true. He saved the world. He was protecting people. Please, no, this isn't your fault. Don't ever think this is your fault."

"Whose fault is it then?!" Cooper cried, sobbing.

The question hit Tony in the gut and he reeled back. "It's no one's ..." Tony began before stopping in mid-sentence. How he wished Pepper were here. A wave of intense guilt and grief washed over him.

Ultron. Ultron was the cause of all of this and Tony was the cause of Ultron. Tony looked around the barn, at the house visible through the barn door, at the boy in front of him, so much like his mother yet with that unmistakable Barton presence. Clint had created life out of love. Tony had created Ultron out of fear. Now Clint was dead because of it. His knees buckled under the guilt.

"Ah, Cooper," Tony said, crouching, head in his hands and shoulders stiff. "Oh, kid, I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry."

"Mom says it's okay to cry," Cooper repeated, and Tony felt Cooper's small hand on his shoulder. Tony looked up at the child as the child sat on the step stool and sobbed.

"Kid, I'm so sorry," Tony whispered as he reached out to touch the child's arm. "I'm so so sorry."

Cooper grabbed onto Tony's arm. "It's okay to cry," he said around his sobs. "It's not your fault Dad's not coming home."

In the quiet of the barn, Cooper sobbed while Tony, ramrod stiff, refused to look him in the eye. Awkwardly, he pulled the child to his chest and patted his back, offering the little comfort he knew how to provide. "Ah, Cooper," he repeated in a whisper. "I'm so so sorry."

TBC


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been humbled by reactions to this story. My many many thanks for letting me know how you like it. This chapter is one of the longest for this story and contains a lot of bad language. Please read and enjoy!

After

Chapter 4

They buried Hawkeye under the oak tree in the front. The funeral had been a small matter with a closed casket for the sake of the children. Only the family and the remaining members of the team had attended. Laura had declined Fury's offer of a full SHIELD funeral, complete with Honor Guard and salute, preferring instead this more grounded event. Maria Hill and Nick Fury stood silently in the dappled shade of the oak tree while Wanda and Pietro stood off to one side, unwilling to intrude on the intimate party. Laura and the children sat silently, Natasha at their backs and surrounded by the protective circle of the team.

The last four days since the Avengers had arrived at the farm had been difficult. Fury had Clint brought down from the Helicarrier and, standing in the barn away from young eyes, Laura had looked at her husband's body for the last time.

He was dressed in the same tactical gear that Natasha had provided for him. He lacked his quiver, but his finger and wrist guards remained. His hands were folded over his stomach over his bow.

"Oh, Clint," Laura had breathed, stepping up to the open casket and running one hand through his hair while the other grasped his still hand. "Oh, honey," she said, tears falling from her eyes.

Steve had stood rooted to the spot. He and Natasha were the only ones who were present, and he refused to look away. Refused not to honor this woman's suffering. He would do her, and Clint, this final honor. He could do no less.

But that was a day ago. Now, with the funeral over, Laura turned from the old oak tree to the house, her children in either hand. She was surprised to find Pietro walking next to her. He looked steadily at his feet, his face a pinched mask of emotion. "Mrs. Barton," he began quietly.

"Call me Laura, Pietro," she said. "'Mrs. Barton' is for my children's friends." It was habit for her to say that, she knew, but she half-smiled anyway.

"Laura," he began again, "Your husband ... he was very brave."

Laura smiled sadly. "Oh, I know that, Pietro. But thank you."

He put his hand on her shoulder and she stopped to turn to him. "I just wanted to say ..." he began, and Steve was suddenly there, taking Cooper and Lila from Laura's hands. He lifted both into his arms and walked towards the house. Cooper buried his face in Steve's neck and Lila sat in his arms, staring at the oak tree as he carried them inside the house. Laura suddenly had a very strong feeling that this chat had been pre-arranged.

Puzzled, she stared into the pale blue eyes of Pietro. "I, uh, appreciate your help over the last few days with the cooking and the house work." She felt very tired and worn all of a sudden. "I have relied on you more than I am used to. Your skills are very appreciated."

He clasped her arm and she looked at him, drained, annoyed and puzzled, realizing that this was the first time she had seen him without his sister by his side. She wanted to go inside with her children and begin the grieving process again. "When our parents died," Pietro started haltingly, "I learned how to cook." Laura's face softened and her annoyance fled. "We were very poor for a long time. I stole ..." he stopped, looking ashamed. "I got food for us any way I could. We learned how to make do. We learned to do what we had to do to survive."

Laura looked over her shoulder to Steve taking her children inside. Cooper had raised his head to look at Steve, hanging on to Steve's soft words and looking far older than his 11 years. Lila had begun to cry again, and Steve had leant his forehead against hers in an effort to comfort her.

There was a sudden flash of red across Laura's vision and she saw, very clearly, a similar scene from nearly two years ago. It had been fall then, the oak tree's leaves had turned golden and had begun to carpet the front yard. A brisk wind blew through the newly-planted hay fields that just a few months before had been corn fields. The children were smaller then, and Clint could hold one in each arm. He had come home from New York, from Loki, only two months prior. His arms still bore the marks and his eyes had not yet lost the haunted look he had, the terror of his actions from when Loki took him from himself reflecting in the blue-gray.

In Laura's vision, he looked over his shoulder at her, children curled protectively in his arms. His face was lined with tension and worry, memories clawing at his expression. He stopped as he watched her walk towards them in the morning sun. His face softened, the finer lines disappearing. His eyes widened as she smiled up to him. He told that she looked beautiful, then, with the sun in her hair and her eyes shining they way they were. She smiled widely and approached him on the porch and she felt like she could reach out and touch him. It all felt so real.

He had smiled at her, the first real smile she had seen on him since he gotten home from that terrible time. He held her that night for the first time, kissing her softly as they slept side-by-side. He had been distant before, sleeping in the panic room in the basement and avoiding her touch, too terrified that he may look at her through ice-blue eyes and do to her all the things Loki had wanted him to do to Natasha. Laura clearly remembered that night, remembered how happy it made her to truly believe for the first time, that her husband would return to her whole eventually.

The red flashed across her sight again and the vision disappeared, leaving Laura gasping and reeling, but smiling. Pietro put a steadying arm hand on her arm. "Are you alright?" he asked, slightly panicked. He glanced quickly over Laura's shoulder at his sister.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine," she said, but put a protective hand on her stomach and she straightened up. When had she leaned over like that?

Laura had cherished that memory and that night but over time the memory had faded. Now it stayed in her mind, vivid as daylight, as if it had just happened. She smiled at the sudden flash of happiness.

Pietro seemed to miss the presence of her smile, obviously fighting through something he wanted to tell her. "Your husband. He saved my sister. Helped her in the fight."

Laura smiled again. "She and Natasha should compare notes sometimes."

"I am sorry, Laura." Laura stopped and peered into Pietro's crystal blue eyes through his white bangs. "I tried to save him." Laura's lips parted and her breathing increased as she stepped back away from Pietro. "I saw it all happen in slow motion. The child, Costel. The bullets. Him going down." Laura's hand when to her mouth and her shocked expression deepened. "I couldn't get to him on time. I ... wasn't fast enough," he hissed. "I wasn't fast enough!"

Tony's head snapped up at the hiss and he watched Laura and Pietro talk.

"Oh, Pietro," Laura sighed, suddenly exhausted and dazed. She could hear Tony's heavy footsteps approaching against the wooden porch. "Pietro, it's not your fault."

Tony reached the pair, standing behind Laura and glaring at Pietro. "Laura," he said. "Everything okay?"

"Tony," she said. "I think I'm going to lie down. Could you ..."

"We'll take care of the rugrats. Go get some rest. Do you need help?"

"Just inside, I think," she breathed. "I should be fine the rest of the way. Could you ask Natasha to bring me some tea? And bring the kids up when they're ready?"

"Of course," Tony said, still staring accusingly at the Maximoff twins as he turned to help her inside. Pietro followed the woman with his gaze, but Wanda stared back at him intensely. Laura disappeared into the house, Tony's hand at the small of her back. Stark narrowed his eyes at them both and then followed.

Pietro and Wanda watched them go, the screen door closing behind them. Pietro turned to Wanda. "What did you do?" he asked. "She went into one of your trances."

Wanda stared at the open front door of the homestead slightly dazed. "I made her happy, Pietro. I didn't know I could do that." She stared at her hands, smiling and hope welling in her eyes. She looked at her twin and smiled, a lightness crossing her face that Pietro had not seen since they were children. "I made her happy, Pietro, if only for a second. I made her remember and I made her happy."

*******

Natasha descended the staircase slowly. She had left the remaining Barton family curled up together in the master bedroom, Laura staring blankly at the wall and stroking the hair of her children. The children had effectively burrowed into each other, resisting being parted from one another as they curled up against their mother's larger torso. Laura sipped on some chamomile tea.

Turning the corner around the staircase, Natasha saw the Avengers assembled in the living room. The Maximoffs stood stiffly near the bay windows. Tony, in a suit, sat cross legged on the couch, one arm draped over the back, trying very hard to appear relaxed while his jaw remained clenched and his eyes, suspiciously moist, darted around the room. He looked at everything but his teammates. Steve sat on the other side of the couch, sitting up stiffly. Thor stood behind the center of the couch silently, his expression both regal and in deep mourning. Mjolnir and Steve's shield sat on the middle couch cushion. "Laura and the kids are resting." Natasha's voice broke the silence and their heads snapped in her direction. She stood with her arms crossed. The team nodded silently.

"She is like steel during this time," Thor said. "I would expect no less from the wife of the Hawk."

Silence stretched out again. "She doesn't have to stay here, you know," Tony stated. "She can come to New York, stay in the Tower with us. I'll have the best doctors in the country for her and the baby."

"I think she would like to stay close to home," Steve began, looking surprised at Stark's suggestion. "Y'know, for the kids."

Tony shrugged. "We'll set them up in the Tower. They won't want for anything. We'll get the kids enrolled in the finest schools. That Cooper really has a sharp, analytical mind."

Fury shook his head. "The Tower isn't exactly the safest place right now, Stark. I'm not uprooting this family at the exact moment they buried their husband and father."

Stark dropped his arm off the back of the couch and leaned forward, staring into Fury's face. "That's not your call, Nick."

Fury's eye flashed. "It's sure as hell not yours, Stark."

"You're both right," Steve said, raising his voice to be heard over the argument. "It's not our call. It's Laura's."

Thor shifted his weight onto one foot, leaning over and bracing himself on the back of the couch. "Perhaps it would be best to keep the voices down to a minimum," Thor said. "There is a grieving family attempting to sleep upstairs."

Tony continued, ignoring the Thunder God. "I'll be damned, Fury, if I allow Barton's wife and baby to be man-handled by some hack country doctor," he spat, standing to be even with Fury. "She isn't some farm animal," he scoffed.

Steve stood from the couch and faced Stark, using his considerable bulk and height to stare him down. "It's her choice, Stark. Her choice, not ours."

"Those 'hacks' delivered both Cooper and Lila," Fury took a step closer to Stark.

Wanda looked at Pietro and rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Pietro silently walked towards the kitchen, ignoring the escalating argument. Thor looked torn between breaking up the argument and simply ignoring it. Shaking his head sadly, he turned to follow the twins into the kitchen and quietly began aiding the preparations for dinner.

"They used those doctors before they had access to my contacts," Stark continued, his voice raising more. Stark walked around Fury towards the front door, pulling out his Stark phone and poking at it. "I'll get them all set up. I'll get tutors for the kids until enrollment season comes around again and ..."

Natasha joined the conversation, eyes flashing. "Let it go, Stark. It's not our call."

Tony wheeled on her, staring her down until a sharp glare made him back off. "The hell it isn't!" he huffed. "Barton was one of ours. We protect our own!"

"Is that what this is all about for you?" Natasha continued, eyes widening in realization. "Protection?"

Tony looked away in the following silence and light steps were heard on the stairs. The team froze as Laura Barton came into view, her eyes puffy and red and her hair disheveled. She was dressed in an oversized flannel shirt that the team very clearly recognized as Clint's. "Tony," Laura said, her voice weak as she wrapped her arms around herself. Natasha started to go to her side, but she waved her off. "I appreciate your offers. But the decision is mine, and Clint's, and we made it long ago."

"But Laura, you can't be serious ..." Tony said, attempting to placate. Laura's eyebrows raised in disbelief. Steve stepped forward and placed a hand on Tony's shoulder to silence him.

"I am serious Tony," Laura's voice turned to steel. "What my family needs - and what I need - most is stability. Familiarity."

"Laura," Tony continued, "that's ridiculous. Surely you can see ..."

"Stark, shut up," Fury stated, moving himself to Tony's side

"Tony," Laura said, her voice edged now. "I have lost my husband. My children have lost their father." She did not raise her voice, but the edge in it brooked no argument. "Our baby will never know him." She held Tony's gaze, eyes tearing up. Tony had suddenly gone completely mute. "I understand that you are mourning, too. I know he was important to you and you were important to him." She stepped towards Tony, a single tear trailing down her cheek. "And I know in my head, even if I don't believe it yet, that nothing we do will bring him back.

"But, Tony, this isn't about you. This isn't about your mourning, or your contacts, or your intelligence. This isn't about what did or did not happen to take Clint away from us. This is about Clint. And the decision that Clint and I made months ago stands."

Tony's mouth closed with an audible click and, blinking hard, he turned on his heel and strode through the kitchen and the sunroom to the outside, stepping over the still-to-be-finished floor. They watched him go, faces covered with both expressions of both anger and concern.

Thor's voice rumbled quietly through the living room. "Lady Barton," he began, "I wish to apologize on behalf of ..."

Suddenly deflated, Laura waved it away. "No need, Thor. Everyone grieves differently. I don't expect it to happen again." She quietly excused herself and made her way slowly back up the stairs. Steve watched the space where Tony had left, face still flushed from anger but his expression showing his deep concern.

"Tony's always been an ass," Fury began. "But Laura's right. He's grieving." Fury looked up into Wanda's eyes meaningfully. She nodded imperceptibly. "He just needs some perspective. He'll come around."

*******

Tony had wandered around the farm for an hour with a bottle of bourbon he had discovered in a cabinet prior the funeral. He sipped the warming liquor as he wandered the farm, wishing that Pepper were there. He couldn't call her. Not yet. She must be concerned, but he had to try to fix things before getting her involved. He had to make things right.

He somehow found himself back in the barn, fiddling again with the steering on the old tractor and attempting to force down the boulder of emotion that was sitting on his chest. He was tired, having gotten little sleep in the days since Barton's death and in the lead-up to Sokovia. He felt vaguely like he was swimming through peanut butter, but he couldn't stop. Not until he could figure out how to make things right again.

He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly, refocusing on the steering column buried deep in the guts of the Deere.

"You are grieving," a familiar accented voice echoed through the barn.

Tony snorted without even looking up. He had no problem giving the Witch his back. "Yeah, no shit. I mean, I know I'm the genius here, but that just seems basic." Wanda's lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. "Get out of here," Tony said, "I'm working."

Wanda tilted her head, analyzing him. "Whether you like it or not, Stark, I am a part of this team now," she said calmly. "I am here to help."

Tony snorted. "One battle does not make you a part of this team. You two have been skulking around here for days. That doesn't make you part of this." He looked up at her, meeting her eyes derisively. "Who said it did?"

Wanda narrowed her eyes again. "Hawkeye did."

Tony snorted again. "Yeah, really? Look where that got him."

Wanda's face fell into a scowl and her eyes flashed red but her voice remained serene. "He did much good for me. For many. For you, too, I believe. When you get past your anger, you will accept that."

"Right. Anger's not going anywhere. You should know that by now."

Wanda stepped up, hands at her sides. "Anger is powerful motivation. But it is a draining, destructive way to live. I know that now."

Stark waved his hand dismissively at her. "You can take that kumbaya bullshit with you. Anger is all I have right now."

Wanda slowly walked towards him, hands around the shawl over her as dusk began to fall. "There must be other things you can remember him by. Do you want all your memories of him to be colored in anger?"

"Of course not," Stark spat, taking his hands out of the tractor and facing her more completely. He did not move as she approached, but he appeared to shy away. He looked away suddenly. "But that's all I have right now. That's all I've got."

"No, it is not," Wanda approached, raising her hand, red tendrils snaking out. "Let me help, Stark. I can help."

Stark looked at her, eyes wide with fear and apprehension as he took a step back. "No. Don't ... " he said, he voice drifting out. He remained standing where he was, however.

"It will help, Stark," she said as the red tendrils expanded.

Stark saw a red flash over his vision and then he was staring directly into the pissed-off face of Clint Barton.

They were near the very familiar large living area of the newly-renamed Avengers Tower. The construction was far from completed and empty cantilevered floors and their supports still remained incomplete and unfurnished. The large open area with the plush couches emptied into a smaller, more intimate kitchen area, where Clint had been sitting on the back of a large chair, feet on the seat, in a pair of black cargos and a plain purple t-shirt, scratching his head over a report and making wisecracks. Natasha stood by, eyes just crinkling enough in humor at something Barton said. Steve also stood by in a blue button-down and khakis. Miscellaneous Iron Man suit parts and designs sat spread across the simpler, yet still highly polished, wooden table, including a fully functional yet slightly dinged gauntlet, a new greaves design in early stages of development, and a portion of a neck piece.

It had been after one of their first battles as a team, several months after aliens had invaded and Tony had fallen into the New York skyline from the portal. Thor had not yet returned from Asgard, and Clint had only recently returned from what Natasha had said was some deep-cover mission.

The battle had gone well that day. Some highly-mechanized idiots had tried to take out one of the embassies in New York. Fury had called in the Avengers. Natasha was the only that had required medical attention post-battle, suffering a slash along her hairline that turned out to only need a few butterfly clips.

The Iron Man suit, however, had suffered grievously from a case of friendly fire, having gotten a little too close to one of Hawkeye's EMP arrows. The resulting blast had knocked out about a dozen hostiles and had ruined the comm systems of the remaining few. Disorganized, the bad guys had fallen apart and were then easy enough to corral. The suit, however, had fallen from the sky like a rock. Tony had managed a bumpy landing, but the suit had had to be pried off of him. It had been humiliating and the embarrassment felt like a burning lump in Tony's gut.

"The fuck, Barton!" Tony had seethed as he stormed into the room, having seen the proper transport, storage, and repair protocols set. He still stood in the clothes he wore under the suit. "Watch where you're aiming!"

The relaxed smile had disappeared from Steve's face and Natasha's eyes darted between Tony and Clint. She apparently received the information she needed from Barton, because she did not straighten up from her position leaning against the table.

Clint looked up from report he was reading, glancing briefly at Tony's fuming, before looking back down. "Next time, Stark," Clint said, non-plussed, "listen to me when I say to clear the area. " He shrugged. "I called it. You ignored it."

"Bullshit, Barton!" Tony said, taking several steps towards Barton. "You're on a team with a robot suit. Why the hell do you need EMP arrows anyway?"

Clint's eyes kept on scanning the report in front of him but he chuckled nevertheless. "I would have thought that would have been obvious at this point given how we got out of there with exactly zero civilian casualties and plenty of bad guys to get information from." He slowly lowered the report in front of him to meet Stark's eyes. "The specs of my arrows, including radius of effect, are in the briefing I provided to you. It's not my fault you didn't show up to it. Or, apparently, watch the video recording Jarvis provided."

Tony seethed at Barton's dismissiveness. "Don't lecture me, Barton. I'm the one literally putting this building back together, brick by brick."

"Tony ... " Steve warned.

"Where the hell have you been for the last three months, huh? You went AWOL as soon as Thor took Loki back." Clint's form tensed but he didn't move from his perch on the back of the chair.

"Tell you what, Stark," Clint said, voice dropping. Natasha started walking around the table towards where the genius and the assassin were arguing. "I keep out of your business, and you stay out of mine."

"That doesn't work for me, Hawkeye," Stark said, drawing out the code name with a smirk. "We know nothing about you."

"Stark." It was Natasha's voice this time, low and dangerous.

Clint stood from the chair, stepping down from the seat to stare at Stark six feet away. "You know my skills. You know my tactics. You should know my weapons. That's all you need to know. Get your head out of your ass and you'll realize that."

"Not good enough, birdie." Stark said, stepping up to be nearly nose-to-nose with the archer. "How do we know you're even playing for the right team again?"

The room went deathly silent. Clint shot up his hand from his side, halting Natasha's inevitably violent approach to Stark. He didn't have to see her to know that she would be moving to protect her partner.

Clint glared at Stark down his nose. Steve's eyes widened at the startling demeanor shift in Barton. Eyes narrowed in a deep scowl, he glared at Stark. Barton's hands were held loosely at his sides, feet in a steady stance, but Barton's fingers twitched slightly as if he were stopping himself from drawing one of the concealed weapons that the assassin always had on his person. His weight had shifted to the balls of his feet. He looked exactly like a predator ready to strike.

Not one to back down, Tony took Clint's glare as a challenge. He stood with his chest puffed out and arms smugly crossed over his chest, weight in his heels. Steve realized that, in that cocky posturing position, Stark would not be able to defend himself against Barton's attack, even if he had had the training.

Steve took a step forward, holding a hand out in a placating gesture and hoping he could get in between the two Avengers before one of them - likely Tony - got hurt.

Clint beat him to it. "Fuck you, Stark," Clint said as he turned on his heel and walked around the table to get to the door. Steve released his held breath, but sighed as Tony didn't let it drop.

"Yeah, you go ahead, Barton. Run for the door," Tony crowed.

"You have no idea what type of favor he's doing you, Stark," Natasha said, voice deep and dark. "Keep your mouth shut."

"You should listen to the lady, Stark," Barton called over his shoulder. "Why don't you take this opportunity to put on your big boy panties and stop pouting about how useless you are without your suit?"

Tony felt a wave of rage shoot through him that coupled with the humiliation of being torn out of his suit, the work it was going to take to repair the suit and how much time could have been saved if Barton hadn't been so goddamn cocky.

Steve was too far away to stop the punch that Tony threw, a right cross right to the back of Clint's head. In the blink of an eye, Clint spun on his right foot, caught the punch on his forearm, spun around Tony and, using Tony's arm as leverage, kicked Tony's legs out from underneath him. The genius fell with a loud thud, face connecting painfully with the floor.

Clint let go of the arm and backed away, again assuming a relaxed but ready stance. Tony stood, wiping blood from his streaming nose. "You son of a bitch ..."

Steve stepped up to stop the fight, but Natasha, again leaning against the table with a sparkle of amusement in her eyes, put a hand on his arm. "Don't, Cap," she said, looking vaguely like Christmas had come early. "Stark started this. Let's see if he learns anything from it."

Clint grinned ferally at Natasha's words. "Yeah, Stark," Clint said. "School's in." He slid his hands in his pants pockets, adopting a deceptively relaxed stance. "Let's see what you got without two inches of metal between you and the world."

Tony flew forward, putting all his weight into the next blow. Hawkeye quickly stepped aside at Tony's uncoordinated attack, bringing his fist down between Tony's shoulder blades as he passed. Tony's momentum sent him to the floor.

"Arrogant assholes like you, Stark, make my job easy," Clint said, nonplussed as Tony got to his feet. Tony threw another punch and Clint dodged, catching the second punch aimed at his midsection. He twisted Stark's arm to the side, just to the point of pain, before lifting his own booted foot and kicking Tony into the chair that Clint himself had vacated. Tony collapsed into it, face twisting into a scowl even as blood from his nose dripped onto his chin. "Your ego gets in the way of your brain," Clint said again. Tony stood up, wavering slightly, seeing Natasha's sly grin and Cap's barely concealed mirth at the situation. His eyes narrowed in anger.

Again, Stark rushed at Clint. And again he wound up on the floor. "Look, Stark, I can do this all day, really. But the bottom line is," Clint said, blocking a punch, twisting Tony's arm behind him and pushing him hard into the table so that he was bent over it. Pain flared in Tony's gut from the edge of the table and he doubled over it, wind knocked out of him, his repulsor gauntlet in front of him on the surface of the table. "You keep fighting with your ego instead of your brain, you're going to get yourself killed."

Tony pictured Clint behind him, face dripping with smugness and a white-hot stab of anger shot through him. "Or you're going to get a member of the team killed." Barton had turned to go back to the chair, apparently feeling Tony was no further threat. Tony reached for the gauntlet in front of him. "Or you're going to get Pepper killed," Barton stated, putting a nail in the coffin.

"Keep Pepper out of this, asshole," Tony snapped, gauntleted arm darting up and spinning to wipe that arrogant smile off of Barton's face. Tony heard Cap's gasp, saw Romanoff put her hand again on Cap's arms to stop him from reaching for his shield. Tony's brain tried to cut through his anger to scream at him to stop, but it failed. Tony fired his repulsor directly at Barton's unprotected chest.

But Barton wasn't there anymore. So quickly Tony couldn't track him, Barton had disappeared. Just as suddenly, Tony felt pressure against the top of his gauntleted wrist and looked down to find a small, leaf-shaped blade sticking out from a joint in the back of his hand, immobilizing his wrist. Barton was suddenly in front of him again and he lifted his arm at the elbow to fire forwards, his target something of a blur in front of him. Something blunt and targeted struck him in his now exposed armpit. Sharp, sudden pain shot through his shoulder and arm. He cried out as the entire arm went numb, dropping uselessly at this side. Then, he was suddenly on the floor again, hearing the thwack-thwack of two knives embedding in the hardwood floor so close to his head that he could feel the flats of the blades against his ear lobes.

He opened his eyes to see Hawkeye the assassin crouching over him, staring directly into his eyes with his unsettling predatory glare. His voice was low, dark and measured when he spoke. "As I see it," he began, "there are least five ways out of your current, very vulnerable position with my skill set. Three with Cap's. Probably seven with Widow's. But I'm guessing you don't know a single one of them."

Tony didn't respond, his eyes wide. His arm was a dead weight at his side.

"I don't have to tell you what we are fighting out there. You already know. But here's the thing. The only way we win, the only way they ..." he gestured widely to the world at large, "survive is us knowing each other's strengths, weaknesses, skills, and limitations." Clint stood from his crouched position. "No one's worried about your guts, Stark. You've got balls the size of this tower. But you can't let them get in the way of your genius brain." Clint reached down - Tony wouldn't admit to himself that he stifled a flinch - and tapped both of Tony's temples simultaneously, then pulled the knives out of the floor without so much as a brush of steel on Tony's skin. He stood up from his leaning position, stashing the knives in a sleight-of-hand move. He turned, picked up the report from the floor and walked nonchalantly towards the door. Natasha fell in at his side subtly oozing satisfaction from every pore.

Cap remained leaning up against the table trying to hide a smile. He tilted his head to the side and looked at Tony, still laying motionless on the ground. Tony blinked twice.

"Uh, hey Cap?" Tony asked, attempting to sound relaxed. He failed.

"Yeah, Tony?" Steve said, not moving from the table.

"About how many times over could Barton have killed me just now? Or maimed. Maiming, too." He still couldn't move his arm, either. That sucked.

Tony pretended not to hear the answering chuckle. "I'm sorry, Tony, but I lost count shortly after the first time you hit the floor."

"Ah, okay." Tony stared up at the ceiling, barely recognizing it as it was still unfinished. "Hey Cap?"

"Yeah, Tony?"

"My arm ... I can't feel it."

"That doesn't surprise me, Tony."

"I'll get it back, right?"

Steve did laugh loudly then, straightening up and approaching Tony's prone form. He leaned down and yanked Tony off the ground by his left arm. "Yeah. He set you up and went for a pressure point. Wiggle your fingers. You should already be getting feeling back."

Tony nodded, feeling the familiar pins and needs as he slid off the gauntlet, Barton's knife remaining lodged in the joint. He rolled his shoulders. "Ow."

"You alright?" Steve asked, still valiantly trying to stifle his grin.

"Yeah," Tony said, grimacing and wiping his still-bleeding nose.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Because Barton is going to start training you on hand-to-hand tomorrow morning."

Tony dropped his head. "Of course he is," he said as Steve strode towards the door.

"And, hey, Tony?" he said, looking at Tony over his shoulder.

"Yeah Cap?"

"Next time don't taunt the best assassin in the world."

"Good plan," Tony chuckled to himself, looking down at the gauntlet in his hands.

If that gauntlet, knife still lodged in the wrist joint, made its way into a glass box outside of Barton's quarters, that was a sacrifice Tony was willing to make. The note attached to the gift, a scrawled, "you forgot your knife, asshole," faded quickly from his mind's eye in a haze of red and he blinked to see and hear the quiet of the barn once again. He was alone.

Tony had forgotten about the note and the gauntlet. He had not seen it again after that night as it had disappeared into Barton's quarters. But Tony knew that Clint recognized it as the apology it was. Had even kicked his ass a little less hard in their hand-to-hand sessions the following day.

One day shortly after their one-sided fight, Tony had been surprised to see Clint show up in the doorway of his lab one day. He had arrow plans under his arm, notations in the margins. That started a tradition of late-night planning/testing sessions where the two of them discussed balance, weight, air speed, trajectory and aerodynamics. These sessions suddenly stood out in Tony's mind, and he closed his eyes to remember Clint's focused mind spitting out ideas for particularly tactical arrow heads, spinning an arrow shaft between his fingers like a drumstick. Tony would dance around the room, barking at Jarvis to tweak the latest simulation to provide for a more sensitive trigger mechanism, or a variable radius EMP - just to mess with Barton. Those sessions, with Bruce usually nearby to join in the brainstorming, Natasha there to snark at them indulgently, and Steve bringing them food occasionally, stood out in Tony's mind as some of the most enjoyable times with the team. Barton was his trainer, his smart ass partner-in-crime, his opportunity to play with a set of physics alien to him.

Shit.

Barton was gone. Tony reeled physically, leaning up against the tractor. There would no more late night bullshit sessions. No more sudden, disbelieving laughter as one, or both of them were suddenly covered in nets/glue/paint from a flawed arrowhead. No more attempting, and failing, to design the illusive boomerang arrow that almost gave Tony a concussion once: "The idea is awesome. It's your tech that sucks. Respect the boomerang arrow, Tony. Respect it."

Suddenly, Tony's anger and his strength melted away as if it they fell through a sinkhole and left an aching, ulcerated pit. He felt his legs go weak, his knees buckling as he hit the ground, hard. His throat tightened and he gagged, leaning onto his hands and knees as he dry-heaved into the dust of the floor.

Barton was gone. The asshole had jumped in front of fucking anti-aircraft rounds, just to save some damn kid. People relied on him, and he just fucking died. Jesus. He had kids of his own! A wave of anger rose in him suddenly, his gagging temporarily ceasing. Who the fuck gave Barton that right? To leave a pregnant wife and kids in the lurch?

He could hear Clint's rejoinder to that. That it was his job. And Clint had to have known that the team would take care of them. Tony rolled up onto his knees, surprised to find himself crying, the wetness dripping into the dust. He remembered, as he cut into Ultron's giant drill five days ago, Clint's desperate gasping, the choking as Widow and Cap could do nothing but watch him die. Tony had seen the body. Along with the myriad of other scars dotting Clint's torso, Ultron had made swiss cheese out of their Hawk. Tony couldn't stand it. Couldn't see his friend's eyes open and unseeing. Couldn't see the pulpy mass of what was left of his ear. Couldn't see the patterns the bloody rivulets had made down his friend's chest.

At least the kids wouldn't have to see that. Clint was buried in the ground. The kids would never have to see the gruesome horrors of their father's death. That was something at least.

Tony would make sure those kids wanted for nothing. Not safety. Not memories of their father. Not a cool uncle. Nothing. Ultron was dead and Tony had no one to fight to make it up to Clint. He was just going to have to protect his family. He owed the guy that much.

TBC


	6. Chapter 5a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I continue to be inspired by the responses to the story. Thank you so much! I also wanted to take the opportunity to thank those who have given me kudos or left comments as they really motivate me to keep this fic going.

After

Chapter 5a

Steve hated loss. He had already lost everything too many times. First his mother. Then Bucky. Then he lost everything again and woke up in some bizarre world where nothing was the same.

Once he had found the team, his family, he had apparently been foolish enough to think that they would stick around for a while. But now, Steve sighed and looked out the bay windows to the oak tree. Clint was an annoying smart ass. His anti-authoritarian attitude caused conflict between the two of them quite regularly. But now, without him, they were fractured. Steve was not surprised at how much he mourned him, but the raw ache and tension was still encompassing.

The others were suffering, too. Tony was currently allowing the asshole portions of his personality control his behavior. Thor seemed to still be in some sort of stern denial - this was the first time he had lost a mortal brother-in-arms. Natasha was busy helping Laura. Bruce was ... God knows where. Steve didn't know if Bruce even knew. The Other Guy was in control then, and maybe he didn't even know that Clint ... that Clint was dead.

He ran a hand through his blond hair as he watched the blue blur of Pietro dashing around the kitchen, once again preparing something for the team to eat. The twins had largely stayed to themselves, Pietro taking the initiative to provide the everyday necessities of the team's needs, allowing the team to see to themselves. Wanda would often disappear, walking after individuals. Laura, Tony. Even the kids sometimes.

Steve never saw Wanda talk to anyone, but he did occasionally see her and an individual come back in from a walk together, each with a sense of peace on their faces. In truth, he envied that.

He stood from the kitchen table, feeling about as old and tired as his actual age, and entered the kitchen to help. Lila and Cooper were curled in on one another on the couch, leaning into and talking quietly to one another and sipping on the juice that Steve had handed them. Laura and Natasha had disappeared upstairs. Wanda entered from the sun room and smiled slightly, her eyes moist but determined. Tony had disappeared into the barn again since his outburst with Laura yesterday, but when Steve checked on him early this morning, he seemed more focused than he had been since Ultron, working hard on the plans for some sort of heads-up security display for the farm. He had looked up and acknowledged Steve's approach and mentioned something about a visit from Wanda before his phone rang with Pepper's face popping up on the caller ID. He had snapped the phone to his ear and turned his back, and Steve had left quietly, leaving Tony to Pepper.

Steve turned around the counter, intending to inquire as to what Pietro was working on. He reached for something on the counter, twisting to pick it up. He felt Wanda's approach, saw in his peripheral vision her raise her arm towards his shoulder in a flash of red. Somehow, he knew what was coming and he surprised himself by welcoming it.

He blinked past the red haze and suddenly he was standing around the table in the tactical room of the Avengers Tower with maps, documentation, and glowing heads-up displays spread out before him. Had it been a just under a year ago? Clint stood to his right, leaning on his arms over the table, speaking and reviewing a display showing the details of a small island in the Baltic Sea. He had grown a scruffy, scraggly and untrimmed beard for the op they were briefing , and Steve was surprised to see at this close proximity flecks of gray throughout it. He had never thought of Clint as being old enough to have gray in his beard. Clint had let his hair grow out as well, and the sandy blond fell past his ears and slightly down his neck. His usual purple-trimmed tactical gear was gone and he was dressed simply in an old pair of jeans with a hole in the knee, the muscles of his legs hidden by their bagginess. The worn gray t-shirt was a size too large for him and the flat planes of his chest and toned arms were hidden by its odd fit. Steve could see a pistol tucked between Barton's back and his waistband and Steve had no doubt that Barton had half a dozen other weapons tucked out of sight on his person.

Natasha stood on Barton's other side, leaning over the table and pouring over the documents there, tucking a strand of crimson hair behind her ear she leaned on her hands. She shifted on her casual heeled boots. Thor, in full battle gear, paced irritably across the length of the table in the back of the room. Steve followed Clint's glance at the god, then shifted his gaze to the anxiously shifting Bruce, his arms crossed over his chest protectively as he alternatively removed and replaced his glasses. And then removed them again.

Tony stood across the table, his arms crossed defensively over his chest as Barton continued with the mission briefing. "This is where the intel we need is," Clint said, referencing the heads-up display of the small island. "It's one of HYDRA's largest compounds and where they have stored sensitive intel in the past."

Stark interrupted. "Remind me again why we think this is a good idea?" Tony asked, uncrossing his arms and glaring between Steve and Clint.

Clint sighed, but Steve answered Stark for him. "We've done this already, Tony. We don't know how, but HYDRA has the scepter. This is the opportunity we need to simultaneously get the scepter and wipe out HYDRA for good. In order to do that, we need to know where all of their bases are located."

"The best way to do that," Natasha chimed in, addressing the full group, "is to get someone on the inside," she gestured to Clint, "to ferret out the intel without them realizing it, and get out."

Tony shrugged irritably. "So I'll break into their server. Easy." Bruce took off his glasses again as he nodded.

"HYDRA is a bunch of psychopaths, but they're not stupid," Clint answered. "They didn't survive this long without being paranoid. Our friends tell us that intel this sensitive isn't sitting on a server where the world's best hacker," Clint gestured to Stark, "can pick it up. HYDRA knows that have Tony Stark as an enemy."

"They know all their enemies now, including you," Stark pointed out. "Natasha dumped all that information over the web and, as it turns out," he said, nodding towards Steve, Natasha and Clint, "you guys were working with them for years without even knowing it."

Thor's rumbling voice joined Tony's. "Indeed, Barton. They know your visage. It is a pit of vipers and you would stroll into it as if it were a simple meadow."

Steve dropped his head, frustrated. It was the same argument they had been having for the last month as they planned this op. He understood their points the first time around. Thor and Tony's forte was high-octane energy wielding. None of them had military secret ops training and did not understand the process. But, at some point, they had to trust those that did.

"People recognize things only when they see what they expect to see," Barton said, scratching his cheek. "That's why I grew this damn thing."

"They don't know we know about them," Natasha said, her voice stern and impatient. "So if they're expecting us - which is a big 'if' - they'll think we'll either come in guns blazing with our heavy hitters," she gestured across the table at Thor, Tony and Bruce, "OR they'll be expecting a one-time covert ops mission with Cap, Clint and me. They won't be expecting a deep cover mission, so they won't be looking for it."

"If they're looking for me," Barton continued, "they'll be looking for the chiseled features of my devilishly handsome self. Not a scruffy, hygienically-questionable janitor." He gestured to his torso and the stained t-shirt and jeans. Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Barton cut him off. "And before you say it, Stark, yes, SHIELD has face-manipulation technology and no, it's not applicable here. Long-term usage has ... concerning side effects." Tony closed his mouth, but glared at Clint.

Silence fell in the room. Bruce took his glasses off and then replaced them. Again. Thor stopped his pacing and sighed. "I still do not like sending our brother into danger alone."

"Noted," Steve said quietly. He did not like it either, but he saw no other option. Barton had been doing this for a long time - longer than Steve had, nap in the ice notwithstanding - and Steve trusted both his skills and his instincts. "This mission is comparatively simple. Get him in, let him do his job, and then get out with the intel."

As there were no further objections, Clint continued. "Drop off is the coast of the Bay of Riga in Latvia. From there I will be in constant contact until I reach the port. At that point, I'll board a vessel to Estonia under the name Wilhelm Brandt."

"How's your German?" Tony asked wryly.

"Einwandfrei," Clint responded with a cocky grin. Natasha and Steve both grinned, Steve looking down at his hands. Thor, Bruce and Tony looked at each other confusedly.

"What does .. " Tony began.

JARVIS's voice interrupted, "That would be 'impeccable' in German, sir."

Tony turned to Clint, his eyes narrowed. "Really. You got J on your side. How did you manage that?"

Hawkeye grinned wider, holding Tony's gaze before waving a hand. In response, a different image appeared on the display. "Next stop is Rastik, a tiny island in Estonian waters. There's little info on it even in SHIELD files, and what there is is unreliable given HYDRA's infiltration. Nevertheless, HYDRA is expecting an already-vetted Brandt to be on that vessel."

"How did we manage that?" Banner asked, approaching the table and inspecting the display of the small island.

The corner of Natasha's mouth quirked up. "Friends."

"Well, that was cryptic," Tony said irritably, looking at Thor's nodding head.

Clint continued. "Once I, as Brandt, board the vessel to Rastik, deep cover protocols are initiated. I will largely be out of contact. Nat and Steve know this protocol and I know the rest of you have been briefed. I will initiate all contact at specifically designated times."

Natasha spoke. "It is vitally important that we follow these protocols." She looked at Stark. "It gives Clint the protection he needs to do his job." Stark narrowed his eyes.

"How will you conceal your weapons?" Thor asked. "You cannot hide your great bow in this way, and they are sure to check you."

"They will search me," Clint confirmed. "That's why I'm not taking any weapons."

A chorus of complaints arose from across the table.

"That is unwise, my Hawk."

"That's fucking insane, Legolas."

"Even I know that's crazy, Clint."

Steve sighed and looked the ground. Clint held his hands up placatingly. "Guys, guys, guys. I'll find something there I can use. They're not going to let me into the compound with weapons on me."

Natasha's clear voice halted conversations. "Clint escaped captivity once using only his fingernail. Anything's a weapon to this guy."

Clint flashed a playful grin in Natasha's direction, who returned it, before continuing. "I expect to contact base in some way - radio, video, something - every 2-3 days. This is fluid and in response to the circumstances, but Nat will be main point of contact. Expect that these communications to be monitored on my end. Once the intel is required, I will notify you guys at HQ to relay extraction locations. That's when you guys come in and raze that shit to the ground. And someone bring my bow, because I want in on it." His grin widened at the thought. "If all goes to plan, I expect to be debriefing around this table in 8-10 weeks."

Thor fidgeted. Tony scoffed. Bruce looked ill.

"And if all doesn't go to plan?" Bruce muttered.

Clint shrugged and then grinned. "Then maybe sooner."

Natasha chuckled and Steve shook his head at the cockiness, but Tony, Thor and Banner remained unmoved. Clint stood and crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, guys, you have to trust me on this. I've been doing this for a while. I know it's not your cup of tea, but Nat and I have been doing deep cover missions together for almost as long as I've been doing it solo."

There was silence around the table, and then begrudging nods. "Great," Clint said, scratching again at the clearly annoying beard.

"Great," Steve echoed him, meeting each individual's eyes in turn. "We're wheels up in an hour. Grab your gear." Steve watched as the team filed out of the room, leaving Tony leaning over the table and the documents on it. He looked up to meet Steve's eyes.

"You sure about this, Cap? I would hate to lose the one guy that has our backs because we didn't have his."

Steve met Tony's eyes. "Look, Tony, I'd never say this in front of him, but," he pointed to where Clint had left the room, "that's the guy who single-handedly strategized and executed the take-down of Nick Fury's Helicarrier using only a dozen guys and a half a quiver of arrows, while being ... " Steve trailed off, trying to find the right words.

"Mind-fucked by Loki?" Tony offered drolly.

Steve looked at him. "I was going to say severely sleep deprived and starving, but effectively, yes. It took all five of us to stop him and Loki still got away."

Tony straightened up and looked at Steve, muscle going in his jaw.

"And that's just the story I know about. Talk to Fury and Romanoff about his role in Budapest sometime. Or Pyongyang. Or Bangalore. Clint knows what he's doing. We just need to stick to the plan."

*******

Three days passed. Three days of Banner fretting, of Thor pacing, and of Tony snarking. Three days of the limits of Steve's patience being tested with each dramatic sigh, barbed comment or silent glance. The only thing that saved Steve from verbally firing back was his intense amusement at Natasha's subtle but pointed eyerolls.

On the third day, Steve had noticed the four of them congregate quite deliberately around Natasha. He could tell that their hovering was dancing on her nerves as she shot glares at each of them in turn in order to get them to stop following her around like lost puppies. He needed to find a way to get them away from her before she came up with something creative and terrible to do to them.

Natasha's most reliable burnable phone rang at precisely 1 p.m. and they gathered around the table.

"Guten Tag," Natasha chirped into the phone, assuming her created role of house wife and mother to four young boys.

"Guten Abend, Schwester!" Clint's voice came over the speakers. Bruce, Thor, Tony and Cap placed their comm links in their ears. Tony muttered something to Jarvis under his breath to translate the conversation.

"Est ist schon, deine Stimme good to hear!" Natasha replied while JARVIS's translation program kicked in mid-sentence and Clint's voice filtered into their ears, speaking English even though Clint and Natasha were still speaking in German.

"Good to hear your voice, too, Sister! Everything is fine. Couldn't be better!" Clint's voice filtered through the comm link, calm and relaxed. "Cleaning the toilets here is similar to other places, only more people looking over my shoulder," Clint said. "The trash gets taken out on time and people are happy. No matter where I turn, though, there's more trash."

"I do not doubt that, Brother. There is always more trash to take out. I hope you are not working too hard," Natasha responded. Steve was struck by the oddity of the stereo - Natasha's voice speaking in German across the table, but speaking English through the comm in his ear. "And that the people are treating you well."

"People here are okay. Reserved. Nothing to speak of, really. People stay out of my way, so I get things done quickly. Very efficient, these military types. But enough about me. How are the kids?"

Natasha met their eyes individually around the table. "Same old, same old," she said. Tony scowled at Natasha's raised eyebrow and half-smile.

"Ach, sorry to hear that they are acting up again! And what about your job? How is the boss?"

Natasha glanced at Steve, who was confused by the reference. "No change on that front."

"Good to hear, Sister. But it is late here. I should go. Everything is low-key, so I will call in three days. Kiss the kids for me and tell the second boss to lighten up and I will talk soon."

"Goodnight, Brother," Natasha said. A tone sounded as the call disconnected. The men around the table removed their comm links as Natasha directed her attention to them. "Hawkeye's perfectly blended. There's more information there than we thought, but Clint is ahead of schedule anyway."

"Okay, why are there two bosses? Who is the second boss?" Bruce asked, glasses perched in his hand as he gestured.

"That's Steve," Natasha said, making a note in a hovering electronic file folder before waving her hand to close it and file it away. The animation had the file folder sail across the room to land in a faux filing cabinet.

"So who is Boss 1?" Tony pressed.

Natasha strode out of the room, but not before flashing Tony a smile. "That's classified, Stark."

The calls came regularly, largely exactly when it was planned. The format remained the same: updates and well-wishes through coded discussions. Through these calls, Clint related that the number of HYDRA outposts had grown dramatically shortly before the fall of SHIELD. It was a bad sign, but it had left the organization spread out, disorganized, and with numerous holes in their security due to an insurgence of new blood. The new faces meant that Clint's raggedy bearded one was not paid any attention. Steve knew that Clint was spending his days mopping floors, keeping his ears open, and making sure that his phone conversations to Natasha, undoubtedly tracked and recorded by HYDRA, aroused no suspicion.

As the weeks passed, Clint told of his assignment into the night crew, which meant unfettered access into the more discrete areas of the base largely unobserved, once he identified the video monitoring and neutralized them appropriately. Even HYDRA officers needed their floors vacuumed and trash taken out, after all.

Clint's call that day was late by an hour. Agitated and pacing, the non-German speakers put in their comms. "Good evening, Sister!" Clint's voice rang out over the speakers, clear and relaxed as always.

"Hello, dear Brother!" Natasha replied in a cheerful voice that while sounding perfectly natural still seemed out of place on the usually stoic assassin.

"How are you tonight?" Clint asked.

"I am fine, but my oldest," her eyes flicked to Tony and she arched an eyebrow, "still has that nervous stomach I've been telling you about. So much angst."

Clint chuckled on the other end. "Ah, that's too bad. He hasn't learned his lesson then?"

"No, no he hasn't," she said, holding Tony's gaze. Tony smiled at the coded teasing.

"He still will not quit with the stress eating. He will be 1500 pounds the next time you see him."

Clint's voice dropped slightly, subtly serious. "I do not doubt it." But then the cheeriness was back. "Ah, he worries too much. Such a sensitive soul!" Banner hid a smile behind his hand as Thor guffawed out loud. "But Sister I have good news! They have me on night shift full time now!"

"That is wonderful! That comes with an increase in pay does it not?"

"It does," Clint said. "I am surprised at how quickly this has happened. I took Stefan's spot - I have mentioned Stefan and Sven before, I think. They took Stefan off the island - through the south doors. They say that he had something to attend to, poor man. Sven hasn't been the same since he left. Very tense. I don't think he is sleeping well."

"Ah, too bad," Natasha said, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "But night shift is good?"

"Yes, of course. Sleep soundly during the day and clean while no one is around. Very peaceful. Easy to get the work done."

"That's good. But the children miss you, Wilhelm. Any chance you could come for a visit soon?" Natasha's eyes narrowed, analyzing.

There was a pause on the line, as if Clint were thinking of his response. "Perhaps soon, Sister. They are working me quite hard here and they don't seem to be filling the open positions. I must go, though. I will call again as soon as I can, but not until Monday. They are giving me more key cards that I can't figure out, really. They say something about keeping the organization secure. It is important to keep us safe."

Natasha nodded. "Understood, Brother. Be good until then."

There was another chuckle from Clint. "I always am. Kiss the children for me. Good night."

The line went dead and the team looked expectantly to Natasha for the real substance of the conversation. "He's safe," she started, "but things are starting to heat up. The south entrance of the building is hot and where he needs to be. He's going to get there, but the last time they took someone back there, he didn't come back."

"Stefan," Bruce muttered.

Natasha nodded. "They suspected something with Stefan and made him disappear. It sounds like Sven is next on the list."

Thor leaned over the table. "I do not like that it is heating up. I would like to retrieve our archer from this place."

"Eyes on the prize, Thor," Steve said. "HYDRA and the scepter in one." Thor pressed his lips together and crossed his arms, unwillingly placated.

Natasha sighed. "Clint has all the info here. He's lead on this op and he's not losing any sleep over this. He's still flying under the radar. He'll have more intel on Monday."

"That's five days from now, not three, " Tony pointed out.

"He's picking up the pace. He needs some more time." She locked eyes with Steve and gave him a significant look. Steve felt his heart dip.

Tony missed the non-verbal exchange between Natasha and Steve. "Alright," Tony said, narrowing his eyes, a flash of an idea and scheming flashed through his eyes. "I'll go back to my lab. Bruce, you coming? There's ... something I need your help with. We got new stuff. Wanna play?"

"Of course," Banner said as their voice faded into the hallway towards the lab.

Steve watched as Bruce and Tony talked to the hallway towards the lab, Thor trailing behind them, clearly conflicted. Steve turned to Natasha, the feeling of unease at her significant look deepening. "I saw that look, Romanoff. What's going on?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, concern leaking through her expression. "Things are getting hotter there than is totally comfortable." Steven felt his heart dip again, worry written all over his face.

"He's safe. It's nothing Clint can't handle, but HYDRA is becoming more active. We may have to make a bigger entrance than originally planned, though. We should prep for that."

Steve nodded, brow furrowed. He didn't like any of his team in danger. "We should tell the team," Steve said, opening his mouth to summon JARVIS.

Natasha held up her hand to stop him. "They're already on the edge of flying out there and pulling him out no matter the danger to him and the mission. Telling them this would only put him in more danger. Clint's fine now and will probably remain that way. Deep cover requires a fine touch and Stark and Thor are the embodiments of bulls in a china shop." Steve laughed fondly. "It's safer for Clint to keep his cover intact. Let's see what the next call tells us."

*******

The next call was a day late. It had taken all of Captain America's leadership skills - and a fair amount of valiant, dignified begging - to keep Tony and Thor's feet firmly planted on the ground. Even Bruce was slightly green around the gills by the time Clint's call came in, but whether from worry, or the Hulk, Steve couldn't say. They were all tense and on edge, with the exception of Natasha who seemed outwardly comfortable with the situation. Her patience was beginning to fray, however, and Tony wore the dark circles and sunken expression of sleep deprivation. Bruce was even more on edge despite the fact that he was working hard to remain calm. Steve was antsy as well. Deep cover was never his strong suit, nor was he ever comfortable with a member of his team in the enemy's hands, even if he had willingly placed himself there.

Natasha's burner phone rang and she hit the button. Clint's voice rang out. "Ah, Sister! So good to hear your voice! I am sorry for the delay in contacting you. I hope I did not worry you."

"Of course not, Wilhelm! I know you are busy." Natasha's furrowed brow and pursed lips belied her otherwise cheerful voice.

"Yeah, I'm very busy. Nothing earth-shattering. Very boring. But that is of no consequence. I was by myself in the south wing the other night, remembering something very odd. Do you remember Grandmother's house in the country? The one with the red gables."

Natasha's brow furrowed momentarily before she responded in a cheery voice, "Of course! She would plant her garden in the sun along the side."

"Yes!" Clint's voice came back, cheery with a slightly edged undercurrent. "You and me would spend hours helping her weed that garden. When she would back she would put the new pies in the front kitchen window and ..."

"And we would smell her cooking before we hit the front steps!" Natasha exclaimed, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she scribbled something on a pad in front of her. Steve watched her as she and Clint continued to speak of some fictional house, Natasha appearing to make it up as she went along, jotting down notes the entire time.

"We had a storm on the island the other evening. I had almost forgotten the storms at that cottage," Hawkeye said, his voice dropping a notch, the edginess back, "How the storms would come in from the east and the sky would turn from blue to red and yellow? We would sit and watch the rain and lightning out the back windows."

"Of course! Gamma was so afraid the wind might tear those gables down!"

Clint laughed on the other end, but it was tinny. "I think she was right. She always locked the door tight, too. She would make sure we were safe inside, but we always knew the baker in town had an extra key in case we needed it."

There was a sound of knocking in the background and muffled, "Brandt! Get your ass out here! The phone's mine!" barely audible, translated from German.

"I'm sorry, Sister, but I must go," Hawkeye said shortly. "Another four days!" he called as the pounding got louder, before the call was disconnected.

Thor and Tony looked at one another as Natasha scribbled on the smart pad in front of her. "So ..." Tony said, one arm crossed over his chest and the other gesturing with the glass he was holding. "You want to tell us what that over-the-river-and-through-the-woods was all about?"

Natasha looked up briefly with a lifted eyebrow and a half-smile before returning to her scribbling. "You're a genius, Stark. You figure it out."

"Shared memory? Prior mission? Something kinky between you and Barton that no one wants to know about but everyone kinds of does?"

"Tony," Steve reprimanded, annoyed.

"None of the above, Stark." With a wave of her hand, a rough sketch floated holographically in front of them.

"To grandmother's house we go," Bruce said, leaning forward and peering into the holograph.

Steve looked at the holography closely. "It's a base," he whispered.

"It's the base," Natasha said shortly. "Hawkeye's trip down memory lane gave us a general layout of the place, including recommended entry points in yellow, the location of the intel highlighted in gray, and the dormitory and extraction point highlighted in green. Our heavy hitters, Thor, Tony and Bruce, if necessary, hit the east entrance." She gestured to the yellow.

"The lightning and thunder," Cap breathed. Natasha smiled.

"Grandma's garden, in gray, is where the intel is kept, but the dormitories are nearby. Officers and HYDRA elite, mostly.

"Major armories and ammunition are here," she gestured, "here and here. Hit them and we simultaneously distract everyone and cut off a large part of their offensive capabilities. While you guys provide the distraction, I will enter from the south to secure Clint and the intel."

"Natasha," Steve said, "You'll need backup."

"I'll have Clint. Besides, they will suspect something if Captain America doesn't lead the front assault. Clint is confident I can get through that lock easy enough."

"What a minute," Bruce said, realization dawning on his face. "*You're* the baker with the extra key?"

Natasha smiled. "I make a mean apple tart."

"Wonderful!" Thor's voice boomed, suddenly lifting the otherwise tense mood. "I would like to try this delicacy!"

Steve laughed. "Soon, big guy, but not now."

"I'll get in, get Clint and the intel and then rendezvous in Riga or join you in taking this base down to the ground."

Tony nodded, swirling the brown liquor in his glass and taking a taste. "So let's do this. The sooner we get Clint home the sooner I'll actually get some sleep."

"I know this had been hard on you, Tony," Steve began.

"Hard on all of us," Tony corrected, taking another mouthful of his drink.

"On all of us," Steve agreed "But we're in the home stretch now. We have to keep our eyes on the prize and stick to the plan. Hawkeye needs us to hold up our end of the bargain."

Natasha nodded. "Clint has the info and the intel. He holds all the cards. We wait for his next call."

*******

The next call never came.

Steve waited, Tony brooded, Thor paced, and Bruce wrung his hands, but four days later, they didn't get a call. Or the day after.

Steve's jaw clenched and his guy twisted in worry when the sixth day came and went. Natasha and Steve had been standing in the kitchen area, pouring over the schematics of the base. Thor and Bruce stood together, talking quietly.

Tony stormed in, StarkPad in his hand. "He's overdue by two days." Tony said. "We need to go get him now. How can I be the only one who sees this?!"

Thor straightened from his position near the counter. He cradled Mjolnir in his hands. "You are not, friend Stark."

Steve shook his head and Natasha sighed. "Unless we have additional information, we wait an additional twelve hours. We go in prior to that, we blow the mission, blow his cover, or worse, get him killed by the time we get to him."

"Twelve hours?" Stark retorted. "He could be dead by now and we'd just be sitting here with our thumbs up our asses."

Natasha narrowed her eyes dangerously at the suggestion that she wouldn't protect her partner. Before Steve could say anything, Banner stepped in between them, supplicating. "Look, Natasha, you know that we're not used to this type of thing." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Labs and blasting and smashing things, yes. Super secret spy stuff, no. But I'm sure this protocol is something that you've used before, right? Something you trust?"

"Yes. It's saved my life - and Clint's - several times over."

Tony sighed and crossed his arms. "I don't like this." He walked around the table to lean over the opposite side of the table. "Look, they've had a massive uptick in security at that base. Someone in there has gotten pretty paranoid, especially in the last two days ..."

Coldness and fear flowed through Steve, his mouth going suddenly dry. "How do you know they've had an uptick in security?"

"I've been poking around their database and .. "

Natasha stepped around the table predatorily. "You what?!" she hissed. "How long?"

Tony looked confused and angry at Natasha's interruption.

"When Stark? When did you start hacking their servers?"

"A few days ago, but they could have shut me out if they suspected ... "

Natasha locked eyes with Steve, and Steve could read the worry behind them. Natasha's voice was low and chilling. "Do you really think an intelligence organization like HYDRA can't track your hacking within a day or two? SHIELD did it within hours."

Natasha's expression went cold. "They were drawing you in, Stark. That's why Clint went dark."

"Look," Tony said, face red and hand gesturing again to his StarkPad, "I was trying to save Clint's ass. He's half a world away and we had nothing!"

"We had the plan!" Steve shouted.

Understanding dawned over Bruce's previous shock. "Oh, Tony ..." he said, scrubbing his hand down his face.

Everyone froze as a small ding sounded from Natasha's pocket. She pulled the burnable phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen. Her impassive face fell and then zeroed in on Stark with a glare that promised retribution. "Clint's cover's blown," she spat. "Suit up. We need to go now."

She tossed the phone on the table before them, face up. The text of Clint's message glowed brightly against the dark wood of the table. It read, simply, "Stark."

TBC


	7. Chapter 5b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Here's Chapter 5b, ladies and gentlemen, ahead of schedule. This chapter has very graphic depictions of violence, so FYI if you're sensitive to that. As always, I appreciate any and all feedback.

After

Chapter 5b

The seven-hour flight to the island off the coast of Latvia was tense and quiet. As they approached, Natasha stood rigid by the bay doors, her right hand wrapped around the weapon around her left wrist. Her regular glares at Tony's back were both ice cold and hotly murderous.

Bruce paced heavily along the length of the Quinjet, breathing deeply as his skin slipped into and out of a very faint shade of green. Steve could almost hear the Other Guy roiling in Bruce's mind, worried about his favorite sniper. Thor stood quietly off to the side, Mjolnir spinning from hand to hand. Tony busied himself with flying the jet, snapping whenever JARVIS recommended he engage co-pilot, or in a somewhat conciliatory voice, reminded him that his airspeed was in violation of several international regulations.

Steve was thankful that his voice rang out clear and firm in the Quinjet as he briefed the team. He was worried. This scenario was too close for him. The last time he had gone to rescue a friend in HYDRA's clutches, he found a man who had been experimented on. That hadn't turned out well.

"Our strategy of attack is similar to what Hawkeye already planned. Thor, Tony and Bruce will take the east end." He looked at them and held their gaze. "Make a lot of noise, gentlemen. Pull their forces that way. We're looking for maximum destruction and overpowering force, but stay away from the south and southwest until you get confirmation that we're clear. Natasha and I will infiltrate the south end, locate Hawkeye and the intel, if possible, and get out of there to join the fight or get back to the Quinjet." The words, "depending on Hawkeye's condition" echoed silently through the cabin.

"We don't know where they're keeping Clint, but we know others disappeared down the southern end. Widow and I will go room to room, if necessary. We will find him." He paused slightly, collecting his thoughts.

"They know who Hawkeye is. It follows that they know we're coming and that we may be walking into a trap. This team has many strengths and this mission uses two of them - overwhelming force and devastating subterfuge. HYDRA has our teammate. Our friend. An Avenger. " Steve paused, his throat tight as his chest ached. "We're going to make damn sure they understand what happens when they mess with one of our own. We bring this down to the ground and make sure no one but us walks away."

*******

As Clint had calculated, the electronic locks on the southern entrance gave the Black Widow little trouble. It was Widow and Cap navigating the small precipice between the wall of the base and the four-story drop onto rocks and the frigid Baltic Sea - without having the obligatory perimeter cameras spot them - that was tricky part. The crashing, roaring and booming of the initiation of the front assault had been comforting, however, and just overpowered with the waves crashing against the bottom of the cliff. They had located the hidden panel for the door electronics quickly and Black Widow's skills had gotten the door open halfway. While Natasha's petite form slid through easily, Cap's super soldier physique had significantly more trouble. "Who puts a door," Cap grunted, "four feet away from a drop like that?"

"Someone who wants to dispose of things - of people - quickly," Natasha replied quietly. Steve's heart leaped into his throat as he looked over the edge to the crashing waters below.

Cap braced his shoulders and back against the open side of the sliding door and pushed back, slipping in as the door slammed shut behind them. The sound echoed down the empty hallway. The lights flickered in time to the blows raining down on the compound from the team's frontal assault.

"Clint's in here somewhere," Widow said, voice low and eyes darting through the shadows attempting to identify a threat. "He had access to a cell phone seven hours ago in order to send a text, which means he overpowered a guard." She strode through the hallways on alert. Steve marched next to her, his body buzzing with tension. The lights flipped off entirely in response to a large wall-shaking rumble of thunder. Dim emergency lights flipped on, casting an perverse orange glow along the hallway.

"My bet," Natasha continued, striding silently down the hallway with Cap by her side, her Widow's Bites armed and crackling, "is they made him. He fought back long enough to get a text out." The hallway darkened with evenly spaced low lighting. The hallway bent to the left, and Steve saw another hallway lined with rooms on either side. Easing open doors netted them nothing, until the third. Two guards inside the room turned at the sound of the door opening, raising their rifles. Cap nonchalantly threw his shield, knocking both of them to the ground, moaning. Darting into the room, Steve punched one unconscious and caught his rebounding weapon. Widow ran forward and pinned the other down by the neck with her boot. The man squirmed and choked under the weight. "Where is he?" she asked, staring down at the guard. "You know who we are. You know why we're here," she stated matter-of-factly.

The guard smiled, revealing blood on his teeth. "He already went over the cliff."

Steve's heart leaped into his throat and he moved to grab the man's collar. He refused to believe it. Natasha's sidearm was in her hand in less time and she pressed the barrel between the guard's wide, now terrified eyes. Her eyes hardened. "I don't believe you," she said evenly, an eyebrow cocking up. "I know HYDRA likes to play with their catches." She narrowed her eyes and the guard began to struggle stronger as a manic grin spread along her face, dark and predatory. "And so do I. So, you tell me where the Hawk is or ... " she flexed her wrist and her Widow's Bite sparked, "I get to play as long as I want."

Steve stepped up grimly behind her. "The Black Widow doesn't lose those types of games, son. HYDRA really can't be worth that," he said in German. Natasha's weapons crackled again.

The guard's voice cracked. "I - I don't know where he is."

Natasha scowled. "I don't believe you," she said, her armed wrist traveled down past the man's abdomen to settle at his groin.

The man started. "He was down the hall - Room 42. But he ... he got out."

Natasha smiled. "Thank you for your cooperation." The butt of her firearm met the man's temple and his head lolled to the side, unconscious. Steve was already out the door.

The rooms were numbered with small placards on the upper left. Steve kicked Room 42's door off its hinges, a sense of deep urgency flowing through him. He surveyed the room but then halted in his steps as a combination of burning worry and immense pride rushed through him. Natasha filed past him into the room.

The bodies of five guards lay dead in the room. There were the splinters and assorted parts of a broken wooden chair lying in the right part of the room, one side of a set of handcuffs still dangling from it. One body lay nearby, a splintered chair leg through the neck. The blood that pooled around the body had not yet begun to congeal and it shone dully in the diminished light. The guard's firearm was missing from its holster.

Another body lay in the center of the room, near what appeared to be brackets that served to, at one point, bolt the chair to the ground. The guard's neck had clearly been snapped, her sightless eyes gazing in an unnatural angle to the rest of her body. Her femur jutted out through her thigh over her knee. Two guards sat slumped against the wall, bullet holes exactly between their respective eyes, brain matter and skull shards splattered to the wall behind and above them. They still held their unfired automatic assault rifles in their hands.

Cap watched, attempting to ignore the heavy stench of blood and other things as Natasha walked to the far wall, skillfully avoiding the random crimson pools, and sprays of blood on the floor. A mostly-intact metal table wobbled unsteadily on a bent leg as she touched it, stepping over the final body with a wound that had opened the femoral artery and what appeared to be the guard's own knife lodged in his abdomen.

Natasha stiffened as she surveyed the table and Cap stepped up next to her, jaw clenching and fists tightened as he shared her rage. The table was littered with the accoutrement of primitive torture: clamps, knives, blunt weaponry, lengths of chain, a pair of pliers, even a taser and a car battery with jumper cables. Steve reached for the handle of one of the bladed implements. It, like much of the table, was splashed by blood.

Clint's blood.

White-hot rage boiled up from Cap's gut. "No!" he roared as he flipped the table across the room, scattering the implements across the floor. "This is HYDRA's doing," Steve seethed as Widow looked on warily. HYDRA took Bucky from him. Tortured him. Experimented on him. Turned him into the enemy.

Steve would be damned if he let that happen to another friend. To an Avenger.

"Cap," Widow's voice interrupted his rage. "We gotta go. Clint has survived worse than this, but we need to find him."

Steve took several deep breaths, calming himself enough to be able to think rationally. He slid his shield into the bracket on his back. "Where would Clint go next?"

She was already across the room and out the door when she answered. "This way."

They stepped back into the hall as the entire building shook, followed immediately by the sharp peal of thunder. Distantly, a roar could be heard. Tony's voice was suddenly in their ears. "Cap, Widow, what's Hawkeye's status? You find him yet?" Natasha met Steve's eyes and narrowed her own, shaking her head as she picked up a jog down the hall.

"Negative," Steve said shortly, joining Widow. "What's the status up front?"

"Oh, you know, mass destruction." Tony grunted and Cap heard repulsors firing in the background of the comms. "Thor's lighting stuff up. I'm breathtaking in my speed and destructive capabilities, as usual, and the Hulk," they heard a roar over the comms. "The Hulk is smashing."

"Good," Cap said, jogging down the hallway after Widow. "Keep it up. I don't want anything standing when we're done here."

"Yeah, yeah, we got that," Tony said, his voice straining slightly as his thrusters kicked in. "We're kind of running out of places to point Big Green, though."

"Acknowledged," Cap barked as he and Widow came to another T-intersection. "We'll let you know when you can release him towards the south of the complex."

"Gotcha," Tony replied.

"Is there no news of our archer?" Thor's voice boomed over the comm. "Have you found no sign of him?"

"We found where he was kept," Cap said, ignoring Widow's pointedly arched eyebrow as they ran in the direction of a crumpled human-shaped mass on the floor. "He escaped on his own. No sign of him or the intel yet, either."

Tony sighed dramatically over the comms. "Just like Clint to leave the party before it starts. Keep us apprised when you find him. Iron Man out."

"Cap out," Steve said, kneeling down next the mass.

It turned out to be another dead HYDRA guard, this one with her neck hideously swollen. There were splashes of blood nearby.

Widow squatted by the body, rolling it over with some effort. The guard's exposed throat was swollen and purple. "This one's sidearm is gone," Natasha said, looking around the body. "Larynx is crushed, but there's no puncture wound," she observed, exhaling.

Steve shifted on his feet, eyes darting from the body to the spots of blood on the floor, some in drops, others in small pools. "So why the blood?"

Natasha grimaced. "It's not hers. Probably Clint's. A gun was discharged recently - smell the powder? Clint caught a bullet," she said, her voice even. For not the first time, Cap marveled at the Widow's ability to compartmentalize any troubling details and focus her analytical mind on the job at hand.

"Well, at least he'll be easier to track," Cap said, nodding his head at the regular pattern of blood droplets and bare footprints leading down the hallway. These signs were interspersed with blood smudges on the wall, as if Clint had leaned up against it for support.

They met eyes and then sprinted down the hallway, following the grisly trail down one half-flight of stairs. The blood splatters stopped suddenly and to the right of the landing they saw a single door. The placard said "maintenance" in German and a distinct bloody hand print, still wet, caught the emergency lights and glowed an eerie orange. It looked intentionally placed.

The ground shuddered suddenly, the walls shaking and dust falling onto their heads. There was another deafening boom, this time close. Very close. Their search had taken them closer to the center of the compound, farther from the exit and closer to the fighting.

Cap reached down for the handle door before Black Widow stopped him. "This is Hawkeye we're talking about here, Steve. He may be wounded, but he's still the world's greatest marksman." Captain America nodded once and slid his shield off his back, readying it in front of his head and chest. Black Widow stood aside as he threw the door open into the hallway. Two gunshots immediately rang out, Cap's shield vibrating and ringing where they impacted where his head would have been. His ears continued to ring as Black Widow ducked around him into the darkness of the room.

The room - closet, really - was pitch-black inside other than the orange light shining in angles from the hallway. As Steve's eyes adjusted to the light, he saw metal shelving lining the left wall, stocked with various supplies, cleaning agents and paper towels. On the right, two shelves had been knocked over, one directly in front of him, the other diagonal to the back corner.

In the back of the room, tucked into a corner behind the diagonally-felled shelving, was a naked man. His arm was propped up against the metal cross beam with his grip still tight and steady on the semi-automatic handgun in his hand. He had a scraggly beard. One eye was swollen shut and his left arm, purple and severely swollen at the wrist, crossed over his muscular torso to clutch at his mid-chest. Blood streaked down his right abdomen around several strips of duct tape at least four inches thick that wrapped across his ribs. His skin was deeply pale against the crimson and he shone with sweat, breathing shallowly in short bursts.

"Nat ... " he breathed as Black Widow vaulted over the down shelves to reach his side.

"Clint, God," Natasha said, her voice cracking in worry and concern.

Steve took a step back in worry and surprise. Any concerns he may have had about Clint's ability to blend in during a deep cover op were erased. Cap knew to expect him when he opened the door and he still hadn't recognized him.

"'Bout time you guys got here ..." Clint wheezed and coughed, bloody spittle flying to his lips.

"Be quiet, Clint."

"Nat," Clint breathed, pointing to the space above the door. Black Widow's eyes glanced at the spot before nodding.

"Cap," she said, "hand me those towels."

Steve reached over to a shelf and grabbed several towels, handing them to Natasha. She pressed them against his numerous wounds, leaving the duct tape in place as it apparently sealed up a sucking chest wound that may have otherwise caused a collapsed lung. Steve unfolded one towel and placed it over Clint's naked lap.

Clint laughed weakly. "Why do they always do that? Just once - just once when they torture me I wish they would leave me my shorts. C'mon," he said, gaze blearily finding Natasha's. "Just once. Beat me, shock me, whatever. Just leave a man his drawers." Natasha smirked despite her actively pressing towels to Clint's bleeding torso.

Steve smiled despite the situation. "Barton, you're spraying blood. Stop talking."

"Just some shorts," Clint continued breathily, ignoring Cap. "Even tighty-whities. Would make the whole escape/rescue thing a lot less awkward." He coughed again, blood staining his teeth.

"Clint, shut up. Your lung hasn't collapsed yet, but it's getting there." Steve looked over Clint critically. The flat plains of his chest and the muscular ridges of his abdomen were a mess of bruises and shallow open wounds leaking blood. The wrist was still tucked against his stomach, purple and already swollen, as was his left kneecap.

Cap felt worry shoot through his chest. He touched the comm in his ear and steadied his voice. "Tony, we need an evac to the Quinjet right now."

Tony's worried voice came over the line. "What's going on, Cap?"

Clint's sudden moan sounded distinctly like a wheezy whine. "Aww, Steve. Not Tony. At least let me find some pants before ..."

"Shut up, Clint," Natasha said. "You shouldn't be talking."

"Cap?" Tony asked.

"Hawkeye's been hit. Bad."

"Is Bruce available?" Natasha's voice came over the comm, Clint's gasping clearly audible.

The Hulk roared in response. "I think that's a 'no'," Tony said grimly. "I'm on my way."

Clint moaned and grumbled as Widow relocated his wrist. A find spray of blood accompanied a weak, wet cough.

A whine of repulsors came to their ears from just on the other side of the hallway wall. A blue-white blast took down part of the wall and Iron Man stepped through. Tony flipped his face plate up when he saw Clint. "Jesus, Birdie," Tony breathed. "What did you do to yourself?" Tony's face broke into the intense worry and fear that Steve felt.

"Get him to the Quinjet as fast as is safe. Stick the largest IV we have in his arm and set up fluids until Banner comes back. Keep pressure on his wounds, " Captain America barked.

Stark gathered Clint's now semi-conscious body in his arms, careful not to disturb any wounds or injuries. As they watched Iron Man take off to the jet, flying back out of the hole in the wall into the frigid night sky, Natasha reached up above the door frame where Clint had pointed earlier. Her hand came down with a thumb drive. She showed Steve with an arched eyebrow and satisfied smirk before she tucked it into a pocket on her belt. Steve felt much of tension in his body relax as she pocketed the intel. The job was done. Now they just had to clean up.

"Whattaya say, Cap," Natasha said. "Wanna go bust some heads?"

"Widow," Cap said, "it would be my genuine pleasure."

*******

Steve stepped into the Quinjet to see both Natasha and Tony hovering around Clint, who was lying prone on a stretcher, breathing shallowly and clearly in a good amount of pain despite the medication undoubtedly already in his system. He was weakly and drowsily trying to swat them away. "'o away," he slurred. "I don't need two mother hens."

The base had been brought to the ground and, just as Steve had promised, the Avengers were the only ones to walk away.

As Thor and a shaken, half-naked Bruce followed Steve onto the jet, Tony silently left his frenetic vigil at Clint's side to ready the jet for the return home. Thor replaced him, a huge hand at the sniper's shoulder and his face a picture of worry and barely satiated anger. Bruce took a brief look at the bruises and wounds littering Clint and then looked away suddenly, as if afraid of rousing the Other Guy again. Steve looked over Clint in detail as Natasha finished bandaging up his remaining wounds and covering him with a blanket, first to his waist and then to his chest.

Hawkeye's left knee and right wrist were swollen and grossly distended, surrounded by air casts and ice packs. Red welts and severe bruising littered his torso and gashes along his legs had been hastily stitched. Clint's eyes, glassy and exhausted, shifted to Steve's as Steve placed his shield against the wall.

"Hey Cap," Clint said weakly, a grimace attempting to be a smile forming on his lips. "Long time no see. At least I finally get to shave the beard."

"Hush up, Barton," Natasha said, putting a hand on his arm. "You can't even hold a razor right now."

"The Boss doesn't like the scruffy ..." he trailed off, slurring.

Natasha's eyes flicked to Steve's, searching briefly. "The Boss won't mind for now." She left the Hawk under Thor's watchful protection before taking Steve aside. "Tony's taking us to one of his and Bruce's contacts - a Dr. Helen Cho."

Steve nodded in recognition. "Tony has mentioned her before. She's developing some sort of healing capsule?"

Natasha nodded, hands on her hips as she looked over her shoulder at Clint. "She's a long way from having a workable prototype, but her formula has been proven to speed up the natural healing processes, especially in soft tissue." Steve followed Natasha's gaze to their battered archer and felt his gut twist. "Clint's improvised duct tape field dressing probably saved his life. The bullet lodged in a rib, which punctured his lung as he moved to the closet. That duct tape kept the lung from collapsing, but it's going to need more treatment." Steve adjusted his stance, removing his helmet and looking at Natasha. Her face was schooled into professionalism, but her eyes refused to move from her partner seven feet away, who was apparently trying to start up a disjointed conversation with Thor.

"Be still, friend," Steve heard Thor rumble, voice low. "You have a grievous chest wound. You should be silent."

"I'll be fine," Clint slurred. "Had worse ..."

Natasha's eyes crinkled at the corners as she smirked at her partner's words, but her expression did not change from the strong undercurrent of worry. Her eyes flashed as she looked back at Steve. "They beat the shit out of him. I'm not sure if the knee is broken or severely sprained. The wrist was badly dislocated. He probably did it himself getting out of the handcuffs. I put it back in place when we found him. Cho can confirm with x-rays, but we're probably also looking at multiple broken ribs." Steve's jaw clenched as she listed off his wounds. "You saw the slashes on his legs and the electrical burns on his hips and thighs." Steve's eyes narrowed, a sharp flash of anger making him breath deeper in an effort to control his emotions.

"Did they ... I've heard of men being tortured by electrical burns to ..."

Natasha put a hand on his elbow. "No," she said shortly. "It doesn't look like they got that far." She crossed her arms, resting all of her weight on one leg. "The good news is they didn't have them that long. He probably knew his cover was blown before they found him. That's how he could plant the intel and get us that text. They probably only had him six hours, tops."

Steve looked at her and her calmness in disbelief. "Six hours is a lot of time when you're being tortured."

Natasha again looked over her shoulder at her partner, but her eyes were distant and far away. "Yes it is. But he's had worse. Last time he was tortured, he was gone for over week." Steve gasped despite himself and watched as she walked over to her partner, leaning over him. Either Natasha or Tony had given him a pair of scrub bottoms after his wounds had been dressed and now the Widow inspected his swollen black eye and watched as his good eye fought to stay open. She put one hand on his shoulder and the other rested on the top of his head as she whispered something in his ear. He looked at her drowsily again and she nodded, a small but warm smile gracing her features. Barton's glassy blue-gray eye closed as he allowed himself to relax into sleep. It was the gentlest he had ever seen Natasha and Steve found himself wondering, not for the first time, the nature of the relationship between Barton and Romanoff.

Bruce stood to Clint's right, now fully dressed and clipboard in hand despite his obvious fatigue. Tony had reappeared after setting the coordinates and auto pilot and was pacing up and down the length of the Quinjet. Bruce looked at Tony's pacing then squinted at the clipboard. He flicked the IV tubing twice and, apparently satisfied with its functioning, lifted one of the bandages on Clint's torso. He nodded briefly and then moved to Clint's other side to repeat the process.

Thor stopped Tony's pacing with a firm hand on his chest. "Worry not, friend Stark," Thor said. "He is safe now. He will be fine."

Tony looked at Thor, his head cocked in disbelief. "He never should have been there in the first place," Tony hissed, but did not bat Thor's hand away.

"Barton was able to retrieve the information we need. Once he is hale, we will be able ..."

"So now you're on their side on this?" he accused, his gaze narrowing to a glare. Steve frowned, annoyed, but Thor beat him to any rejoinder.

"There is only one side in this, Stark. That of the team's. It does us no good to split our ranks to argue who is at fault for the Hawk's injuries. What matters now is that we take steps to ensure any mistakes that were made are not made again." Thor dropped his hand from Tony's chest. Some of the tension drained from the engineer's frame. "I was in error before," Thor continued. "I should have trusted Barton's skills. Indeed, despite knowing he was on board I did not recognize him. His skills at subterfuge are indeed impressive."

Steve saw Thor look over at their unconscious Hawk, Natasha sitting by his side, her hand on his arm as Bruce continued to check his wounds. Thor's face softened "I regret encouraging you to break into their systems. I feel that was a part I played in his injuries, even if it was done out of ignorance and concern." Tony stiffened again and his face breaking into both worry and self-loathing. "We must move forward then, unified," Thor's voice rumbled through the cabin. Tony took a step back from Thor, looking at the demigod as if he's suddenly grown an extra head. He brushed by Thor and walked past Clint, eyes firmly focused only on the pilot's seat and turned his back to further conversation. Steve had attempted to follow him to talk, but he had remained silent throughout the rest of the trip back.

The image of his team hovering around their injured Hawk faded in a scarlet haze and he found himself staring into the living room of the Barton farm. The remainder of his team had assembled there. Thor stood next to Tony, looking off somewhere in the middle distance. Tony stood with his face in his hands. Thor leaned slightly so that his side touched Tony's shoulder in a mutual showing of comfort. Tony's breaths were deep and Thor's hand moved to Tony's shoulder. Natasha stood slightly apart, between the pair and the steps upstairs, arms crossed and watching Tony and Thor. Her expression reflected longing, the intensity of which Steve was unused to seeing on the assassin's face. A sound to his left made his head snap, and he saw Wanda standing next to him. Her eyes still had hints of red and her hands were dropping from his temple. He could hearing Pietro streaking around in the kitchen behind him. "You ..." he said, meeting Wanda's eyes. There was apology there, but pride and grim determination shone through as well.

"I am helping," she whispered to him, her accent heavy. "Let me help."

Steve furrowed his brow, confusion clearing suddenly to understanding. The emptiness in his gut, the despair at losing another brother-in-arms, the near-panic of potentially losing another team: it had all quieted. It was still there, but the way back seemed so much clearer now.

He knew now he would not lose his team from this. Clint's loss was great. But it would be his sacrifice for an innocent that would see them through and remind them why they were there. It would show them that they were not the monsters Ultron believed them to be.

Steve met Wanda's eyes again, her hope and determination shining in the set of her jaw and mouth, and he felt his expression melt into acceptance. "You ...?" he said. Wanda smiled happily, then nodded, leaving Steve to join the rest of his team.


	8. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but things begin to turn in this, at least for the kids.

After

Chapter 6

Dinner was brief and quiet. Laura had reemerged from upstairs with Cooper and Lila in tow. Pietro had prepared dinner as had become the practice, a chore that he fit in as he finished the floor in the sun room and began repaneling the kitchen.

The two children huddled together at the table as they did, always touching, as they stared at the assembled adults around the table. Pietro and Wanda exchanged glances and spoke to each other in low tones as they looked at the young brother-sister pair. "They are us, Pietro," Wanda muttered. "They are different ages than we were, but they suffer as we did."

Pietro's brow furrowed. "They have a mother yet, Wanda. And they have safety. We did not have that."

"No," Wanda said sadly. "We did not." She regarded the two children leaning against one another, whispering briefly in each other's ears. "They have less fear then, perhaps. But that does not stop the pain."

Pietro stopped, his eye flicking to Stark sitting at the other end of the table, ripping apart a dinner roll. "I will never forget that pain." His eyes then rested on the two children sitting nearby. "But I have much to apologize for to these children."

Wanda's eyes crinkled in concern and she placed her hand at the base of her brother's neck. "It is true we helped Ultron at the beginning," her mind flashed, in detailed red overtones, her conversation with Hawkeye in that battered building, "but we are Avengers now. We have some place to belong and we can help people. We are a part of a team." Her hand looped inside his forearm.

"No, no, no, Wanda," Pietro's voice broke. "You don't understand. I was not fast enough!" His voice barely rose, but it was enough to halt the quiet conversations around the table. The clink of silverware on plates also stopped. Pietro's faced reddened as all eyes around the table suddenly focused on him.

"Pietro," Wanda whispered, interlacing her fingers with his.

"I've never been too slow before," he said, avoiding the stares around the table. "Not since Strucker. I did not get there in time!" His voice raised again, and his face screwed up into an angry scowl.

"No one blames you, Pietro," Steve's voice interrupted, low and calming. "Things happen in battle ... " he spared a glance to Laura, who had gone pale.

"No!" Pietro snapped, and everyone at the table jumped. "You don't understand! Another couple of steps ..."

Pietro's anger dissolved at the sound of a small voice. "It's your fault?" Cooper asked, his face an odd mixture of confusion, curiosity, and horror.

"No, Coop," Laura said, reaching over to touch the boy's arm, tears glistening in his eyes. "It's no one's fault. It's like the Captain said, sometimes things happen. It's not fair, but ..."

"But Mr. Pietro said it was his fault," Cooper persisted, still trying to piece it together.

"It is ..." Pietro began and Wanda clapped her hand on Pietro's arm to silence him before he could continue.

"Mom, did Mr. Pietro do it?" Cooper asked.

Natasha threw Pietro a withering look and his mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

"No, honey," Laura replied, exhausted. "He just feels responsible," she raised her gaze to meet Pietro's eyes. "Even though he's not. It's because he's sad."

"Indeed, Little One," Thor said in a deep, rumbling voice, leaning across Lila to his left to place a huge, comforting hand on Cooper's head. "Your father has passed because ..."

Tony's voice interrupted him, "Look, kid ..."

Steve and Natasha also chimed in.

"Cooper ..."

"Coop, listen to your mom ..."

Pietro watched as the kids' heads shot from person to person. Lila leaned away from Thor's side to her brother's. Her brother snaked his hand into hers under the table. The children's eyes were wide, not understanding who to look to and too overwhelmed to hear the various voices.

"STOP." Wanda's voice was low but terse as she stared in disbelief at the adults at the table. She met the eyes of the children. "What happened was nobody's fault," she told them. She looked to her own brother and then to Stark. "Nobody's." The children looked less scared, but still confused.

"Agreed," rumbled Thor. "Any attempt to cast blame, even on ourselves, diminishes the Hawk's great sacrifice."

"Agreed," said Steve. "We should be honoring Clint, not fighting over him." Silence reigned over the table, each individual lost in his or her own thoughts.

Cooper spoke then, tremulous and hesitant. "It's not Mr. Pietro fault," he stated matter-of-factly, a child's logic and understanding dawning on his face. "It's not Mr. Stark's." Laura's arm curled around Cooper's shoulders as Tony blinked and seemed physically struck by the statement. "And they were there, right?"

Laura pressed her lips to Cooper's head. "That's right, buddy," she breathed into his hair.

"And I wasn't even there?" Cooper said, a look of analytical confusion crossing his features. Laura held her son closer to her, nodding and allowing him to come to his inevitable understanding. "So ..." he trailed off, face screwed up in a conclusion that he either didn't believe or couldn't yet grasp, "Dad didn't die because of me?"

"Jesus, kid ..." Tony began, but choked off his next comment.

"Not at all, son," Steve said. "Your dad's gone because he was protecting us. Protecting you. He's a hero."

Cooper stared wide-eyed at Steve, seeing only Captain America. Amazement dawned on his face. A small smile appeared, "A hero?"

All the heads around the table nodded. "He's a hero," Lila whispered, burying her head in her brother's neck as Wanda unconsciously did the same.

"A hero," Cooper repeated, nodding with finality. "My Dad's a hero."

TBC


	9. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Again, thanks for the responses on this work. This chapter does contain some mild adult content. Please let me know what you think as this chapter takes a bit of a different approach.

After

Chapter 7

Natasha was observant. She was one of the best spies in the world. Her life depended on observing and learning from people's behaviors and actions.

She had been aware of Wanda's involvement in the team's grief since after the battle with Ultron. It appeared to be helping them, yet it still surprised her that Steve was allowing it. She surmised that Fury had something to do with that.

Fury had left after the funeral several days ago, returning to the Helicarrier. She had been pleasantly surprised at Pietro stepping up to do the lion's share of the work of maintain the large group of people now staying at the farmhouse while Natasha focused on taking care of Laura and Steve focused on taking care of the kids. Together, they cared for the Barton family.

Well, her mouth hardened, what was left of it.

She heard footsteps on the wooden floor and turned to see Wanda raising her knuckles to knock on the bright yellow door. Laura and the kids had taken to sleeping in the master bedroom together, curled up on the bed in there. Natasha had taken Lila's room, curling up on the twin bed at night, staring at the stuffed animals in the moonlight until her memories allowed her to sleep. She hadn't gotten much sleep at all.

Natasha gestured Wanda into the room. "Wanda. How can I help you?"

Wanda stood in the door, arms crossed over her chest, holding a dark burgundy shawl around her shoulders. Her dark hair was pulled back messily. Wanda nodded to where Natasha's gaze had been outside the window. "You were looking at the oak tree."

Natasha looked back to the tree and the days-old grave. It struck her that even now, even though she knew it was irrational, she felt compelled to watch out for her partner. The sounds of crickets and the cicadas filtering in through the open window overpowered the now-familiar and almost soothing zip of Pietro doing ... something ... downstairs.

"Your brother ... does he sleep?" her expression was open and curious, hoping Wanda took the opportunity to change the subject.

Wanda smiled as she looked over her shoulder fondly to the staircase. "He does not need as much sleep as we do. He will rest for a few hours when he feels settled."

A scraping noise filtered up the steps, followed by a loud bang. Natasha cocked a sardonic eyebrow. "And when do you think that will be?" she asked lightly, smiling slightly.

Wanda smiled as well. "I hope soon. Not everyone is as used to his quirks as I am. He is my brother and I love him. But even I find him annoying."

Natasha smiled at Wanda's playful tone and gazed out the window again, watching the cobalt night sky surround the green-yellow flash of lightning bugs. Coming to this farm had so many times been a balm to agitated nerves, a welcome reminder that happiness existed in a world that was otherwise violent and thickly coated in red. Being brought to this place and being accepted into this family had given her something to fight for, not just to fight against.

Natasha heard Wanda cross the room, her footfalls light on the floor. "Do you have a brother, Natasha?"

Natasha nodded. "I did in a way." Her eyes flicked again to the oak tree. "But not anymore."

"I do not know what I would do without Pietro," Wanda said airily. She picked up a stuffed animal - Lila's hawk - and looked at it. "I am sorry for your loss. I am not sure how I can help."

The corners of Natasha's mouth dipped as she stiffened. "People die. That is the way of life. One should concentrate on the living."

"That is true." Wanda moved to stand next to Natasha. "But remembering the dead is often how people find peace in the living. Pietro and I mourn our parents still, but their loss has taught us much."

Natasha met Wanda's eyes, expecting to find a swirl of red in their depths. She found only crystal blue.

"I have seen what you have done for the others, Wanda," she said. "I know you are helping them to remember. That is not something that I am interested in."

Wanda sat down on the small twin bed, inviting Natasha to sit with her. She did. "It has helped them. They will not forget. And in the process, I have come to know Hawkeye better."

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps. But I'm not interested."

Wanda cocked her head. "You do not trust me," she said, leaning back on her elbows on the mattress.

Natasha leaned back, too. "I trust precious few people in this world," she said calmly without a hint of venom or anger in her voice. "We buried one of those this week." She looked out the window again, the dull outline of a stone under the oak vaguely visible in the moonlight. She turned again to Wanda. "Trust takes time."

Wanda nodded, rolling off the end of the bed to stand. "I understand," she said. "Perhaps you may allow me at some point." She gazed at the bookshelf lined with plush toys of each of the Avengers and thin books dotting the shelves. "I hope to be able to pass these memories along to the children. To let them know their father."

Natasha nodded. "We have similar goals, then," she said quietly, following Wanda's gaze to the shelves. "But for me, I prefer to mourn alone."

Wanda looked at her, a look of curiosity crossing over her face. "Of course."

The women stared at each other in the moonlight, the dark stretching out peacefully between them. Wanda smiled and Natasha nodded as Wanda turned to go.

A dull crash echoed up the stairs from the kitchen, followed by a zipping sound and the guffaws of male voices downstairs. Wanda rolled her eyes in amazement. "Pietro is fast, but he can be clumsy," she said.

Natasha smirked. "You'd best see to him, then. It's amazing the kids are still asleep." Wanda nodded and breezed out of the room muttering curses under her breath. Natasha watched her go, and then turned and looked back over the oak tree, its branches waving slightly in the night breeze.

The night had deepened during her talk with Wanda. She glanced at the bookcase beside the bed where Lila's plush Avenger collection decorated the shelf. They were one piece of licensing that Tony had allowed as a gesture of good will and public relations. Their battles had a tendency to cause property damage and little stuffed animals to the right kid often went a long way to ameliorate the kid's parents. Besides, even Steve had a hard time refusing the fluffy little things. Captain America, in full battle gear with white-stitched wings on the side of his helmet, held a hard plastic shield that had been stitched to his torso. Thor had been clutched in Lila's small hand so often that the Mjolnir was hanging listlessly and the cape was creased beyond salvaging. Tony's plush Iron Man suit sat poised pristinely next to a hulking, scowling green form. Natasha's mouth hardened. Bruce had been a fling, a roll of the dice. She had lost on that one, too.

Closest to the bed, and within easy reach should Lila need them during the night, were the Hawkeye and Black Widow dolls. Natasha's own was a peculiarly stuffed version of her tactical suit, her wrists lighting up with blue LEDs in a near-parody of her own Widow's Bites. The fabric face featured careful stitching and embroidery, depicting large blue-green eyes complete with mascara and eye-shadow, and plump lips with lip gloss of sparkling pink thread. She had scoffed when she had first saw her plush's overly made-up look in tactical gear. "Sparkly pink lip gloss isn't particularly helpful in a battle," she had said.

Clint had smiled, hooting in laughter when he saw her plush. "C'mon, Nat," he grinned. "You know the bad guys always crumble at the first sight of batted eyelashes and pouty lips."

Natasha narrowed her eyes, considering. "Sometimes they do, actually," she deadpanned. "But not usually in a firefight."

Clint had smiled while Tony griped in the background, "You know how hard it was to get a Black Widow plush at all? Pepper had to threaten to pull all licensing if they didn't! Asshole misogynists thought it wouldn't sell."

Of all the plushes in Lila's room, though, Hawkeye's was the most worn of the group. The string of the bow had been snapped and the individual plush arrows had been lost. It had lost some of the coloration around the middle as small hands gripped it at night.

Natasha picked that plush off the shelf and padded silently on bare feet to the master bedroom. She knocked quietly as she opened the door and entered.

Laura looked up as she lay in the bed leaning up against the headboard, her children's sleeping heads pooled in her lap. She was dressed in one of Clint's flannel shirts and it was big enough on her small frame and pregnant belly that it was tucked under the sheets with her legs. She had been gazing blankly out the window at the moon-filled night, her left hand absently rubbing at the collar of the flannel. Laura watched Natasha as she walked silently over to the bed and the two women locked eyes, brown on green-blue. "I hate this flannel," Laura said quietly, mindful of the sleeping children in her lap. "Who makes a plaid out of purple and brown-green? But he loved this shirt." She half-smiled sadly, tears coming to her eyes. "It still smells like him. Like trees and wind, bow oil and fletching." Natasha sat on the edge of the bed.

"I miss him, Nat," Laura said, a single tear sliding down her face. Natasha inhaled sharply as her chest tightened. "I always thought that if came to this ... his dangerous job ... that I would be more prepared. I would know what to do. I have a doctorate in psychology. I've profiled for the CIA, for fuck's sake." Her voice became more ragged as she sucked in a breath, tears streaming down her face. Natasha silently grabbed the tissue box on the bed stand and Laura ripped one out from the top. "I've read up on the studies. I've read the 'military mom' message boards. I read about the struggles and the adjustment." She paused to wipe her nose with her hand. "But I have two kids and another on the way! I don't have a partner to help me raise them. It scares them when I cry in front of them, so I can't fully grieve. But they need their mother so they can." She stared at Natasha again. "Their father is dead. They need their mother."

Natasha slid the plush version of Hawkeye under his daughter's sleeping arm. She sat, speechless. She could think of a hundred responses that she would tell a mark or contact she was trying to manipulate. But looking at her partner's widow, red-faced with her eyes streaming, she hesitated. Her instinct, her training, told her to strike at any vulnerabilities, but that thought sickened her. Instead, she broke eye contact.

"I want to tell you everything will be alright," Natasha said, her voice heavy. "But you and I both know it's going to be hard and it will never be the same. I won't tell you that it will be sunshine and rainbows. Life never is." Natasha's gaze flickered to the children, still sleeping in Laura's lap. "I didn't have a real family when I was a child. I was training at a very early age to do things children should never have to do." She brushed a strand of hair out of Lila's face. "But I know family when I see it. You and the kids are not in this alone. They have six aunts and uncles looking over them."

Laura smiled and smoothed the hair on Cooper's head. She toyed with the boot of the plush Hawkeye under her daughter's arm. "That's good to hear, Nat." She placed her hand over Nat's on the comforter. She stopped suddenly, eyes going wide and a smile springing to her face, taking her hand from her collar to place it on her belly. "He's kicking!" she whispered, grabbing Natasha's hand and placing in on her belly. Under her hand, Natasha felt an odd staccato beat, muffled yet insistent. Almost like a muscle spasm, it was a small but definitely shaped something pressing against her hand resting on Laura's belly. Natasha smiled suddenly at her namesake, a rush of joy rarely felt flooding her.

"Laura ..." she whispered, feeling the baby ... Nathaniel, she corrected herself ... kick once more before settling.

"He's been pretty quiet lately. I was starting to worry. I guess he knows he's safe with you guys around."

The presence on her hand disappeared, but Natasha kept it where it was, realizing that she missed the contact of the tiny, still-forming foot against her hand. She remained still before Laura cleared her throat softly, looking at her children.

"I don't know if you know this," Natasha looked up to meet Laura's eyes. "But I know about the time that you and Clint almost slept together."

Natasha stiffened, drawing her hand back suddenly as she snapped to her feet. She prepared to counter the allegations, or to beat a very hasty retreat and leave the farm behind her entirely before Laura grabbed her hand again. "I'm sorry, I should have introduced that topic more diplomatically," Laura said, her face remaining still, but there was a half-smile on her face and a certain smirk in her eyes that, in the back of her mind, reminded Natasha of Clint's when he was bantering with Stark.

"Laura, you should know that he turned me down."

Laura smiled this time and chuckled. "I know, Nat." She patted the comforter next to Lila. "Natasha, sit down. Relax. I've been meaning to talk to you about this for years."

Natasha sat, doing her best to appear comfortable but feeling off-balance inside. "Usually when I try to sleep with a man, his wife isn't so ... understanding?"

Laura smiled again. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I was pissed at the time. Clint talked me out of calling Nick and giving him an ear-full."

"Laura ..." Natasha began, leery of where the conversation was going.

"Nat, please let me finish. I'm no shrinking violet. I know what his job entailed. I met him doing profiling for SHIELD afterall." Laura grabbed the other woman's arm. "But I know you loved Clint. And he loved you. And that it was different and it didn't take away from what Clint and I had."

"I didn't know about you and the kids when ..." she trailed off.

"I know, Nat. Clint was sick about it for months. I married Clint, I had children with him, knowing he would be gone. That he would be put in tempting situations. But I wouldn't have married him if I didn't trust him and he never betrayed that trust. He stopped with you, Natasha. And he told me about it. That's what trust is. And that's why, when I met you, when I got to know you, and I saw the partnership you two had, I trusted you, too. I could think of no one I would have rather had watching his back than you."

Natasha looked at her, the uncomfortable prick of tears forming in her own eyes. "I'm still trying to internalize it, Laura. Eight years of partnership and he's just gone."

Laura nodded. "Every time you turn a corner, you still expect him to be there, right?" Laura whispered.

"Yeah. I can't imagine what it will be like on a mission without feeling him at my back. You said he smells like wind and feathers. To me, he smelled like blood and sweat and leather. He saved my life by bringing me in and too many times after. Together, we saved countless lives by taking select others." Natasha put her hand on Lila's back and felt the soft rise and fall of her breathing. Laura smiled, stroking her pregnant belly. "I should let you go. Let you get some sleep."

There was a thump from downstairs and then a muffled curse. Wanda's muted giggle filtered up the steps followed by what Natasha believed was Steve's patient, well-intentioned advice.

Laura smiled. "I think Pietro's finishing the paneling in the kitchen. Never a dull moment in the Barton household."

Natasha smiled as she left the room. "That, at least, will never change." She closed the door quietly behind her, padding back to Lila's room next door. Closing the door behind her, she changed into a pair of flannel pants and a loose t-shirt and slid under the royal purple comforter with only the soft sound of sliding fabric. She curled up on her side and stared vaguely at the window. A chill had come through the partially open window despite the heat of the day and it reminded her powerfully of a night over seven years ago.

She and Clint had been forced to spend it in a bare concrete hovel in the middle of the Sahara. The op had gone bad quick and Clint had to pull both of their asses out of the fire. It had been before Natasha had known that the Barton family even existed.

They had been partners for just over a year at that time. Fury had informed him that although he still was pissed with Clint for disobeying orders to kill the Black Widow, he'd be damned if the two of them weren't the finest Strike Team he'd ever had the privilege of commanding. For that reason, they would remain partners until further notice. That, he said, and that "no one else wants to work with you two and your crazy-ass ops."

The latest crazy-ass op has blown up in their face. The Black Widow had been pinned down, her position revealed by bad intel and Hawkeye had been forced to fight through a small arsenal in order to get to her. The flight from the compound afterwards was harried and adrenaline-filled and the vehicle they had stolen they had to abandon shortly thereafter when it ran out of fuel. The militia was no doubt still out looking for them in the desert, but their trail had been adequately concealed. The temperature in the desert was quickly dropping to near freezing and they had shit for shelter, sitting side-by-side leaning up against a concrete wall that still radiated some heat from the day, huddled up underneath a single emergency blanket in an attempt to conserve body heat. "I hate the Sahara," Clint had said. "It fries you during the day and freezes you at night. I don't know why anyone lives here."

"Look around you, Barton. You see anyone living here?" Natasha picked up Clint's arm and placed it over her shoulder, scooting closer to Clint and wrapping her arms around his torso in an effort to keep the chill away. Her breath came out frosted in the chilly air. "Besides," she said, "you're the one who told SHIELD we didn't need an extraction plan."

"We never need an extraction plan," he said pulling her closer as the temperature dropped as the moon rose. They had had to share each other's personal space on many missions over the last year. Getting close was simply standard operating procedure in these situations.

"We'll rest here for a few hours, then head northwest until it gets too hot to travel, then find somewhere to escape the heat," Clint said. Natasha nodded, not objecting to being pulled closer.

Ever since she had stared down the business end of one of Hawkeye's arrows and he made a different call, she found herself developing a deep respect for the sharpshooter. His skill and tactical abilities were obvious, but as she got to know him, his loyalty and integrity began to stand out.

She had also began to sense that in the last couple of months that mutual respect had developed into a mutual attraction. She had always admired his precision. But then she had begun to notice the corded muscle in his arms, the strong squareness of his back, and the crinkles at his eyes when he smiled. She had caught him staring at some of her attributes as well with a sniper's intensity.

Those eyes were staring at her with that same intensity, looking down on her in their huddle in the desert cold. The grey-blue of his eyes was particularly stormy as his gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again. She reached up and traced a cut along the strong line of his jaw; the remaining blood was still slightly tacky. He swallowed and dragged the index finger of his free hand down the line of her neck, stepping at her carotid where a knife had been held. The man holding the knife had been pinning Natasha to the wall in an attempt to flush out the Hawk. Instead, he wound up with his knife in his own throat while the man's partner had acquired an arrow through the eyeball. Clint had seemed panicked when he finally caught up to her, checking her neck quickly before pulling her into a surprising and impromptu embrace.

Now, in the desert, Clint's thumb replaced his index finger on her neck, soft and caressing. Her eyes flicked to his lips as she looked at him. His thumb ran softly up and down her neck and her world dissolved to his thumb over her increasing pulse and the way their bodies fit together under the thin blanket. His arm tightened around her shoulders as she closed the gap between them.

Clint froze as their lips touched for the first time and Natasha felt her breathing increase suddenly. She deepened the kiss, pressing her upper body against his firm chest, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck.

"Natasha …" he whispered into her lips, suddenly returning and deepening the kiss. She allowed his hand to trail through her hair as the other trailed down her side to rest on her hip bone. She eased onto her back as he followed, laying against her on his side, deepening the kiss. Natasha felt her blood warm, her heart rate increase as he broke their kiss, moving his lips down her jaw to her neck.

"Clint …" she whispered, breath coming fast and feeling a familiar and welcome warmth spread through her, centering in her low abdomen. Her lips caught a hold of his earlobe and Clint gasped, shifting on top of her, propping his weight on his arms as her hands traveled across his chest and down the firm ridge of his abs. "God, Barton," she said to herself as she felt the taut muscles shift under her hands. This encounter was not going to be slow and languid, exploring and curious like so many first times with new lovers. This was going to be quick and hard, satiating the adrenaline still coursing through their systems from the near-miss earlier.

She suddenly wanted to feel him. Wanted to feel all of him and as soon as possible. She wrapped her flexible legs around his thighs and his hips settled against hers and she felt his not-surprising physical result of the arousing encounter between her legs. Smiling and pushing the kiss harder, her hand glided firmly lower down on his stomach to rest on his belt buckle, pulling at it impatiently.

In a flash, he was gone. His warm, firm, and very welcome weight had lifted off of her, leaving her cold and confused, her neck cooling quickly from where his lips had been. She opened her eyes and saw him pacing ten feet away, one hand running through his short hair and the other on his hip. He refused to meet her eyes as he paced, kicking up small sprays of sand.

"Something wrong?" she said, arching an eyebrow and rolling on to her side, fully aware of how that made her cleavage look in her tactical suit. Clint refused to look at her.

"Ah, Tasha, no," he said, clearly upset. "I can't do this. I really can't."

She quirked and eyebrow and smiled at him alluringly. "There didn't seem to be a problem five seconds ago," she said playfully. Clint visibly flinched at her words, quickening his pacing across the sand. "Yes, yes, there was. Is. I don't want to ..." he stopped suddenly, not intending to offend but warring with … was that guilt on his features?

"I mean," he continued, "it's not like I don't want to. I mean, any straight man would want …. " he gestured vaguely at her still spread out like a cat on the sand.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. Clint sighed and looked down at the ground. "Dammit, Nat, I can't. We … we gotta keep it professional." The chill of the night air had begun to overcome the flush that had spread across her body.

"There are plenty of partnerships in our line of work that lead to sex, Clint. There was even a rumor of you and Coulson when I first joined SHIELD."

Clint stopped his pacing for a moment, looking over at her with surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Sex doesn't have to affect the professional relationship. Or," she said, standing up and taking a step towards him, "it can actually help the partnership in the field. Look at Morse and Hunter."

He took a step back, hands up. "I can't, Nat. We need … " he paused and took a breath. "I need to keep this professional." He swallowed heavily.

She felt something shift-click in her perception as she internalized the change, though her disappointment was obvious. "Okay," she said, sitting back down in the sand. "We'll keep it professional even though it would be a shame." She drew the thin blanket over her shoulders. "Now get back over here and get under this blanket so we both don't freeze to death," she deadpanned.

Clint took another step back away from her and their makeshift campsite. His face crumbled with what looked like guilt and ... was that nausea? "I need to take a walk," he said.

"Clint, there still may be hostiles nearby. You know it's not advisable."

"I know that Natasha," he said firmly. "But it's too late, cold and dark for them to look, even if they don't think we died in the heat of the day." His eyes looked over both of his shoulders in all directions and he shivered. "But I need to clear my head. I'll stay within ear-shot and eye-shot."

Natasha nodded and watched, confused and concerned, as her partner nearly scrambled from their campsite and over a small dune. His reaction to their admittedly delightful activity baffled her. She had read his file and had overheard conversations about the Hawk. He was unattached. There were no known romantic relationships in his file despite working with many teams and individuals within the organization. He had a close relationship with Coulson, but not a romantic one. Hawkeye himself had always remained aloof.

He had clearly reacted positively to her advances, but something … perhaps an injury in the field? A trauma or association she had unknowingly triggered?

The distant sound of retching floated across the still and empty terrain and she stood to see her partner, true to his word, within both eye- and ear-shot, approximately 40 yards away from their campsite. She couldn't see the steam rise from the puddle of vomit, but she could see his stomach spasm as he retched again, emptying his meager stomach contents onto the sand. He then fell back to a seated position, knees up in front of him with his elbows against them, head propped at his hands. He stared resolutely at the sand between his knees.

Natasha did not pretend to understand what her partner was clearly experiencing at that moment. Instead, she stood at the top of the dune, watched for shifting shadows that might indicate a threat, and waited for her partner to come back to her.

She wouldn't understand her partner's reaction to their "almost moment" until four months later when, after another mission, he had somehow gotten clearance from Fury to take a Quinjet. He told her to pack for several weeks in late December and then dragged her aboard a Quinjet, just the two of them, no mission, promising her a real Christmas like he knew she had never had.

"I thought we were keeping this professional, Barton," she had teased as she settled into the co-pilot's seat.

Clint had flinched, clearly remembering their night in the Sahara and his face had gotten suddenly serious. "You know my history," he said as the plane leveled out from takeoff. She did know about his history. She knew about his abusive father, his battered mother and the alcoholism that wrapped their car around a tree and sent him and his brother to orphanages and foster homes. She knew about the unusual way he had garnered his skills and how his this same brother literally stabbed him in the back and left him for dead. It had made his peculiar loyalty all the more intriguing to her.

"That night in the Sahara was … I won't call it a mistake, Nat. I will call it too much adrenaline. I saw you through the window with a knife to your neck and I just knew I had to get to you. But because of my past, I refuse to do things that will hurt the ones I love."

Her reaction was immediate and absolute as much as it was dismissive. "Love is for children, Barton."

Natasha was again intrigued by his response, as he chuckled with a knowing smirk. "Love is for children, Natasha. And some select others, too."

She contemplated her partner's words as he flew, and they sat in companionable silence for the 90 minutes before he began the descent to wherever they were going. They landed in a snowy clearing, white rolling fields spread out before them with an old barn and farmhouse, already decorated for the holiday. Its windows glowed warm in the chilly night air and there was a wreath on the door. It looked like some kind of postcard. There was even a Christmas tree in the front bay windows.

As the two of them trudged down to the house through six inches of pristine, unbroken snow, she saw the front door open. A child of about four, barely more than a toddler, shot out, his small legs flying over the front porch and down the steps despite being bundled up tightly in a small green snow suit. Natasha's confusion resolved into amazement. The child slipped on the last step and fell spread-eagle and face-first into the snow. Clint barked in laughter, sprinting best he could through the white powder. As the boy pushed himself up and regained his footing, he tried to push through the snow red-faced and beaming. "Daddy!" he cried and it echoed over the snowy stillness.

A petite woman, only slightly taller than Natasha, stepped out of the door. Her brown hair was shoulder-length and she held in her arms a tightly wrapped bundle. She looked very tired but beamed as Clint reached the small boy, lifted him off his feet and tossed him in the air to peals of childlike laughter. Clint caught the boy easily and carried him, sack-like, over his shoulder to shrieks of enjoyment.

As they reached the porch, Natasha's eyes widened to see the woman with an infant, no older than three months, held tightly in her arms. Her mind mentally calculated. The Sahara had been four months ago.

Clint kissed the woman and then the infant in her arms, easily managing the squirming burden on his shoulder.

"Natasha Romanoff," Clint said, a wide, proud grin on his face, "meet Laura Barton."

Natasha refused to let her surprise show on her face. Nevertheless, she saw Clint stifle a grin when her eyes apparently widened anyway. "And this," he said gesturing to the still-wriggling sack of potatoes on his shoulder, "is Cooper. And this little peanut," he gestured to the child in Laura's arms, "is Lila."

Laura stepped forward and offered her hand politely, which Natasha shook carefully. She felt a strong need to apologize to this woman, to explain her actions. It must have shown on her face because Clint met her eyes over Laura's shoulder and mouthed "It's okay."

"There's no need to be tense here, Natasha," Laura said quietly, although her eyes betrayed a wariness and was that ... conflicted anger? "Anyone who has saved my husband's life is welcome in my home."

Natasha blinked again, gaze shifting from Laura to Clint and back again. Internally she was still attempting to adjust to the situation, but externally she smiled. "Thank you for the welcome," she replied.

Clint, shifting the still-giggling child from his shoulder, grabbed the boy's ankles tightly as he held him upside down, the ball of his tall winter cap swinging about two inches about the snow. The child again shrieked in laughter.

"I have never seen the Black Widow stunned into silence before, Hon," Clint laughed. "But c'mon. It's cold as hell out here. Let's get inside."

Natasha stood on the porch and watched the Bartons ... The Bartons?! ... go inside. She stayed motionless until both Clint and Laura turned, the glow of the warm house framing them in the doorway. "C'mon, Nat," Clint said, gesturing her inside.

Natasha nodded and stepped in to the warmth of the house, closing the door against the cold behind her.

Natasha's memory faded as she rested in Lila's room. She was surprised to find wetness on her cheeks. Then again, she had lost her partner, so it really shouldn't have surprised her that much. She heard another thump from downstairs. This time, Thor's chuckle had joined Wanda's, muted from his usual booming belly laugh. Natasha allowed herself a half-smile as she drew back the covers and slipped out of the small bed. Padding barefoot, she descended the steps silently, avoiding out of long practice the steps that squeaked and groaned.

Stepping around the corner into the kitchen, she saw Wanda, covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle her chuckle. Thor, red-faced and shoulders shaking, did the same. He was clearly losing the battle.

Steve and Tony, backs to Natasha, stood side-by-side, each leaning against the counter separating the living room and dining room. Steve's head was down and his eyes were closed but his smile was bright and indulgent. Tony had apparently found Clint's liquor stash, because was raising a glass swirling with brown liquid with bright eyes and a wicked smirk on his lips.

Padding further into the room, she saw Pietro. Pietro, sitting cross-legged in the center of the kitchen.

Pietro, with paneling half done in the kitchen, sawdust all over the floor and caulk gun in his hand.

Pietro, jerking said hand violently as it became clear to Natasha that he had managed the glue the caulk gun to his hand.

Pietro, a rueful expression on one half of his beet-red face and a large piece of paneling obscuring the other side. The paneling had also become glued to his face. It was encased in a red haze and it appeared that Wanda was attempting to remove it with her powers.

Natasha couldn't help it. She laughed in spite of herself. Out loud.

Five heads swiveled in her direction at the sound, and grins widened upon seeing her. Thor chuckled again, and again attempted to quiet the sound.

"Do I want to know ..." she trailed off. From behind her, she heard Laura descending the staircase.

Pietro looked both frustrated and sheepish at the same time. "I am fast," he said, his accent heavy. "That does not mean I am precise." Laura turned the corner, taking in the destruction of her kitchen.

"I'm sorry for your girlfriend, then," she deadpanned, eyebrow quirking up and arms crossing over her chest. There was a stunned silence around the kitchen before Tony actually laughed out loud.

"Seriously?! Did you just go there?" Tony said, grinning widely now. "That's the shit Clint would say."

Laura looked at him slyly. "Why do you think I married him?" Laura smiled.

Thor's laughter boomed out, but he was quickly shushed and reminded of the children sleeping upstairs. Steve's shoulders started shaking in laughter with Tony smirking around his drink.

"So, tell me this, Quickie," Tony smirked at Pietro while Laura laughed. "Do you heal as fast as you move?" He stepped around the counter, hands reaching for the paneling stuck to Pietro's cheek.

Pietro was up and backed up across the kitchen in a blue blur. "Oh no, Stark. No way."

Steve then stepped forward, approaching Pietro with a smirk on his face. "Maybe if I tried ..." he said, reaching for the paneling. Wanda giggled.

Pietro backed up another step and ran into the refrigerator. "Not a chance, Captain," he said, grinning lopsidedly before streaking out in the backyard through the sunroom in a blue-white blur.

Wanda laughed. "He will be back soon," she said, smiling. "He's very impatient."

Laura opened up a side cabinet, pulling out a roll of gauze and a bottle of acetone nail polish remover, placing them on the counter. "For when Pietro gets back," she said. Tony grinned, impressed, while Thor simply looked confused. "You think Pietro is the first man in this house to accidentally glue something to himself? Clint used to do it at least once per project." She smiled, eyes tired but mischievous.

"Oh, I like you!" Thor boomed, smiling widely. He flinched at the chorus of shushes immediately following.

Laura opened the fridge, taking out a beer for each of the Avengers, placing one aside for Pietro. She grabbed a seltzer for herself. Pietro slunk back into the kitchen through the front door, closing it quietly behind him. "Come here," she said, patting a chair at the dining room table. She ripped off a piece of gauze and saturated it in some of the acetone. Pietro sat obediantly as Laura fussed over him. Natasha smirked, walking up next to Steve and just barely leaning into his broad shoulder. He smiled down at her, shifting to lean just slightly into her.

"This won't tear us apart," he said quietly so that only she could hear.

"No, it won't," she agreed, equally as quietly.

"He will not be forgotten. We will figure out some way to make sure everybody knows and understands," Steve said.

"Yes we will."

Silence passed between them as they watched the paneling peel back, inch by inch, from Pietro's face. Wanda danced around him, using her powers to pry it away as the acetone ate away at the glue. Thor's face was covered in mirth, eyes dancing and huge hand covering his mouth, his face red from suppressed laughter. Tony's arms were crossed over his chest, his drink on the counter, offering sarcastic and unhelpful pointers as Pietro scowled. Laura was smiling, shooting playful glares in Tony's direction as she poured more acetone on the gauze.

"I miss him," Natasha said unexpectedly, her voice soft.

Steve nodded. "I do, too," he said, voice choked with emotion. She glanced at him and he met her eyes. "I'm sick of losing friends," he whispered, eyes wet and heavy.

She nodded, finding her own chest tighten. "Losing friends is part of our business," she said quietly. "I just always thought I would go before Clint. Perhaps remembering keeps us moving forward." Steve looked at her strangely, as if contemplating something.

Their attention was diverted from their conversation when, after a final crimson yank, the paneling came free from Pietro's face. Thor gave a shot of victory before being smacked in the chest for being too loud by Tony, who picked up his glass and toasted "Quickie's" new-found freedom. Wanda cheered quietly and hugged her brother. Natasha smirked and golf-clapped with a raised eyebrow.

Clint would have loved this, Natasha realized. He would have loved pelting Pietro with pieces of food until Pietro finally broke into a smile. She could see Clint sliding up next to Laura, slipping an arm around Laura's waist and throwing a smirk and a wink in her direction.

He would have loved this, she thought. It wasn't until Steve glanced down at her in surprise that she realized she had said it out loud. Steve smiled sadly, but one that was full of hope. He nodded once, his eyes never leaving the scene.

The put-out look on Pietro's face, now bright pink but at least without the paneling, was making Laura giggle. It wasn't a foreign sound to Natasha's ears, but it was to Steve's and his brow furrowed in confusion. "She used to laugh a lot," Natasha said quietly.

Steve nodded. "I'm glad she laughing now. It's nice to hear."

Natasha's lips quirked upward in a grin"I may have told Laura that Cooper and Lila now have many more aunts and uncles to deal with," Natasha admitted.

Steve nodded once with finality. "Those kids aren't going to know what happened." A sly grin spread along his face. "They're never going to see it coming."

TBC


	10. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Please let me know what you think.

After

Chapter 8

Even among Sif and the Warriors Three, Thor was not considered subtle. His specialty was overwhelming force, not subterfuge. Not guile. Not a silent approach.

As such, it came as no surprise to him that their newfound and very powerful ally heard him coming as she stood on the front porch staring at the oak tree. She turned to face him, turning away from the setting sun, as his footsteps echoed heavily against the wooden floor. He leaned against the newly-repaired railing that Pietro had apparently finished after they had all gone to bed the night before. Her eyes followed his own as they looked over the oak tree.

He felt his chest tighten in an odd way as he viewed the new-settled grave. The feeling was the same as it always was when he lost a comrade in battle: a simultaneous constricting in grief and swelling in pride at their valor.

"You mourn as well," he stated to her as he looked at her as he stood next her at the railing. She tugged her burgandy shawl closer around her shoulders despite the lack of chill in the summer air. Her crystal blue eyes met his ageless blue ones, questioning.

"I do," she admitted eventually. "But I don't know why."

Thor sighed. "It is because all good men should be mourned. And Barton was one of the best."

"Many good men have died. I do not mourn every one of them."

"That is true," Thor rumbled, considering his words. "But you knew this one, if only briefly." Thor allowed more silence to pass between them.

"He saved me," she said suddenly, now gripping the railing with her own hands. She again met his eyes. "When we were fighting, in the city. Despite everything I had done. Everything I had been. He brought me back from myself and brought me into the team. Into this ..." she gestured vaguely around her.

Thor nodded. "You and your brother have been alone a long time, yes?" Wanda nodded, swallowing hard. Thor put a hand on her shoulder. "You are not alone anymore, unless you choose to be. Barton's sight was indeed strong on this point."

Wanda's brow furrowed as she glanced at her hands. "I do not know," she said, "Pietro is ..." she halted, trying to find the correct words. "Pietro is quickly reminded of the past when Stark ..."

Thor smiled. "Stark is often a mystery even to himself, but he has repudiated his former life. That should ring familiar to you and your brother. Besides," Thor allowed himself a smile, "your brother may have already made his choice." Thor looked over his shoulder through the glow of the front window of the house. Wanda followed his gaze and saw Pietro in the kitchen, tape measure in one hand, caulking gun in the other despite his mishap last night. In a flash, the caulk gun was gone and a pencil appeared behind his ear as he scratched his chin. Another flash and both his hands were carding through his hair as he looked from his hastily-sketched plans to the partially paneled wall and back again.

Wanda laughed. "As children, we were desperate for a normal life and a family. I think he is trying to find that now."

Thor nodded knowingly. "And that is why you will not leave."

"Perhaps you are right," she said, her accent getting heavier as she spoke. "But he is doing this, in part, because he mourns as well."

Thor nodded. "Indeed. But entirely for Barton."

Wanda shook her head. "No. Not entirely for Barton. He mourns for Cooper and Lila, and Nathaniel on the way. He mourns for the children left behind, largely because we know something of what they feel right now. And he mourns for himself because he feels responsible."

Thor nodded, looking down at his hands on the railing. "That is a heavy burden," he rumbled. "One that I know well." He lifted his head, gazing through the oak in the yard. "But come, Wanda, I wish to speak with you about a different matter."

Wanda looked at him curiously.

"My eyes are not as keen as our fallen brother's, but even I can see what you are doing with our teammates."

Wanda's eyes widened and she took a step back from the Thunder God. "I am trying to help ..."

Thor laughed deep in his chest. "Of that I have no doubt. There is no need to be apprehensive"

Again a comfortable silence stretched between them. "I don't remember much about my parents," she breathed. "I was too young. Those memories are something I dearly miss." She looked at her hands, her fingers dancing in front of her. "I would like to prevent these children from experiencing such pain. Such ... regret."

"And in the process understand why you mourn?"

"Yes," she breathed into the sunset.

Thor nodded, a small smile on his face. "It is as I believed. I would like to help you with your search, then," Wanda narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, confused. Thor met her gaze. "When you first probed my brain, it led me down a path that ended up saving lives and the realm that I hold so dear. As such, I wish to give you access to my memories of Clint Barton so that you may know, and so that his children may know, too." He grew quiet and looked towards the oak tree again, the dying sun casting angled red light on the disturbed earth. "And so that I myself may find some relief from the gnawing ache in my breast. I find that, night or day, it will not abate. I wish to remember him the way he was: cunning and agile and mighty." His voice had gone quiet as he looked at Wanda. He was surprised to find tears in her eyes. "I wish some respite from my grief, however brief. I was hoping you could provide it."

Wanda inhaled and nodded, bringing her hands up to Thor's temples. She stared into his ancient blue eyes as the red tendrils snaked from her fingertips and her eyes glowed red.

Thor emerged from the red haze in a different place. He recognized the ruined construct of the tower shortly after Loki's army had attempted to destroy it. Barton and Romanoff stood on the now rail-less edge of Iron Man's landing pad. The Hawk, still in red t-shirt and black jeans that he was wearing when they sent Loki back earlier that day, stared out over the wreckage of the city while the Widow stood next to him, staring intently at Barton himself. "Clint, she's worried. She doesn't understand why ..." Thor overheard the hushed voices over the wind.

"I know, Tasha," Barton said quietly. "But after all of this ..." he gestured to the destruction around and below him in the city, "how can I go back to them? I would just put them in danger."

"Clint," Natasha had said, serious and no-nonsense. "Loki is gone. SHIELD cleared you. Trust her. Trust yourself." Thor departed the floor, unwilling to intrude into a conversation that was clearly meant to be private.

Red haze filtered over his vision again and suddenly he was staring eye-to-eye with a human in an odd green costume, he supposed? The man's eyes were oddly attractive, swirling between black and green hypnotically. For a flash, Thor remembered the briefing for this battle, that the main villain's power was a kind of hypnosis that overcame the will of the subject to become some sort of lackey. It had been stressed to not make eye contact.

At that at least, Thor had failed and he found the green-black swirls peaceful and oddly reminiscent of the games he and Loki would play as children. As he felt his consciousness ease into sleep, Barton's shouted, "THOR!" barely registered. He turned and saw his brother-in-arms nearby, arrow nocked and pointed ... at him?

Hawkeye launched himself from his perch on the roof of a bus, loosing an arrow at Thor and angling his body to collide with the villainous hypnotist. Thor saw the Hawk slam into the hypnotist and simultaneously trigger the explosive head on the arrow two feet in front of Thor's eyes, the brilliant yellow-white of the explosion blinding Thor momentarily and eradicating the green-black swirls that had been invading his mind. He remembered nothing for several minutes, and then he stood from where the concussive blast of the arrow had thrown him against an automobile. His vision had cleared, but his ears were still ringing, his comm clearly malfunctioning. He saw the hypnotist unconscious on the street, Barton sitting on him as if he were a bench. Their Captain was standing over them, clearly unhappy at the Hawk's choice of tactics.

Hawkeye, in turn, was clearly unhappy with the Captain. Thor's ringing ears cleared as he approached the arguing duo.

"Hawkeye," their leader said, annoyed and enunciating every word clearly as if to keep his temper, "You. Blew. Up. Thor!"

"So?" Barton returned. "He's a demi-god, Cap. He could take it! Look, he's up and about already!" he said, gesturing to Thor's approaching form.

"If your idea hadn't worked, we'd have been down a member of the team for the battle! It was reckless!"

"If my idea hadn't worked, we would have been battling this nutjob," Barton kicked his ostensible prisoner under him with the heel of his boot, "AND Thor."

The hypnotist, being unconscious, said nothing.

Iron Man landed nearby. "We probably would have had to call a Code Green then, Cap. You know no one is real wild about that. Barton's move was kind of clever, actually."

Clint held his hand out at Stark, a clear look of I-told-you-so on his face. "Thank you, Stark!" Barton said.

"No! Thank you, Hawk," Thor bellowed. "Your quick thinking effectively cleared my mind. I thank you, my Shield Brother!"

The Captain shook his head and glared at Thor exasperated. "You too? He launches you 15 feet across the road into a Hummer and you're on his side on this one?"

Thor opened his mouth to reply when Natasha walked up, surveying the scene. "Y'know, Cap," she began.

Steve cut her off. "Oh, no. I know better than to ask you when it comes to Barton," he shook his head. Natasha cocked an eyebrow and smirked, moving to sit next to her partner on the unfortunate hypnotist. Clint grinned up at the Captain widely and openly. Cap shook his head and muttered into his comm link. "No, Bruce, we're good here. Yes, there was an explosion. No, Thor's fine." Bruce said something on the other end of his comm and Cap sighed. "No, no everyone's fine, really. Hawkeye?" Cap threw an exasperated look over his shoulder at the still-grinning Hawkeye. "No, Barton's fine. Yes, just as obnoxious as always."

Thor laughed deep in his chest as Stark chuckled. Steve stalked away while Natasha and Barton shared a non-verbal yet still amused conversation. The sound of his own laughter receded from Thor's ears as red haze faded the memory yet again, transporting Thor to another location.

The tall buildings of New York City retreated to the mountains and forests of a place called Pennsylvania. It was an odd place, to be sure, but apparently some of the local fauna had stumbled into some waste from ... fracking? Mining? Thor did not remember. The result, however, were 10-foot tall coyotes murderously stalking around his teammates, slavering in anticipation of a good meal. Thor did not take kindly to that.

The battle had started with the beasts getting the drop on them and had resulted in scattering the team over acres of dense, rocky woodland. Iron Man's flight was limited in such an environment, as was Thor's lightning. The battle favored his more terrestrial teammates and it seemed the stealthier members of the team were truly in their element. While the heavy-hitters drew the beasts' attention, Black Widow and Hawkeye could focus their attacks to the more vulnerable points of the thick, armored hides of the huge animals.

Thor had been grappling with one, it open jaws dripping saliva on to his armor as he spread the mouth apart with his arms, hands placed precariously between sharp teeth.

The Captain's grunt and surprised yelp drew his attention long enough to see a red, white and blue blur fly from a beast's swiping claw to send him flying through a dead tree into a rocky outcropping. Sharp wood shrapnel went flying. "No!" Thor bellowed as the Captain slid down a large angled stone, leaving a red stain on the rock, a 3-inch thick spear of wood sticking out the right middle quadrant of his abdomen. The Captain's face was a mixture of shock and pain. "NO!" Thor screamed again, filled with terror as he saw the creature Rogers had been fighting stalk closer, lips raised in an anticipatory growl and eyes focused on the prone, weakly flailing form laying on the rock.

Thor could only watch, horrified as the beast rushed towards their fallen leader. He strained against the jaws of his own beast, calling Mjolnir to him even as he felt, even as he knew that he could not reach Rogers in time.

Then there was another blur - a black-purple blur - and Barton appeared, placing himself between the slavering beast and the downed Captain. "Of course they have freaking armor! Why wouldn't they have freaking armor?" Clint yelled, drawing an arrow from his quiver as the beast reeled back at the new presence. Barton drew back his bow, his back muscles contracting, his eyes taking a predatorily focused gaze as a line of blood dripped onto the bridge of his nose and in to his left eye from a cut on his hairline. The archer's unnerving focus stopped the creature's advance as it no doubt recognized a kindred predator. "Back off, drooly," Hawkeye bellowed, eye filling with his own blood as the creature seemed to analyze its chances against this new threat.

And then it charged.

Barton's arrow pierced through the pupil of the beast's right eye, piercing the orbit and then releasing the acid embedded in the arrowhead until it ate through the bone between the orbit and the brain. Another arrow within half a second after it pierced through the bone and was driven deep into the brain of the animal. It dropped dead at the archer's feet, keening an ear-shattering bellow that attracted another one of its mates from nearby. "Shit!" Barton yelped, still protecting the downed Captain as the new beast crashed through the copse of trees.

In the second that it took for Barton to fell the first beast, Mjolnir reached Thor's hand, crashing through the lower jaw of the animal. It howled in a spray of blood and teeth as Thor adjusted his hold, took out the animal's left front leg and its head hit the ground with a squelch. Thor slammed Mjolnir down between its eyes, a crunching sound echoing sharply through the trees. The beast remained still, finally vanquished.

Thor ran towards the Captain where Barton, leaping off trees, roots, and even the creature itself was distracting the animal, keeping himself between it and the downed Captain. A sharp whistle from one of Barton's arrows drew the creature's attention, its entire body following the high pitch as it turned. Thor knew that it was only a temporary distraction. Thor took up the protection of the Captain, lowering himself to one knee as he lifted the semi-conscious Captain in his mighty arms. "Get him back to the Quinjet!" Barton screamed, hazarding two seconds to meet Thor's eyes as he simultaneously dodged a massive claw and sent an arrow into the roof of the beast's mouth, preventing it from closing it without forcing the arrow deep into its own nasal passages. With a single arrow, Barton had destroyed the creature's deadliest weapon.

Thor nodded, swinging Mjolnir in his hand, blood, bone and brain matter flinging from it. He launched into the air, a firm hold on the Captain as he watched Barton run up the sharply inclined rock face, angle a leap off a low-hanging tree branch to land on the creature's back. "Hey! Stark! Get your rosy red ass over here and distract this thing!" he screamed into the comms, hand fisting into the long, matted fur to keep his balance as the creature tried to buck him off.

"Rosy?" Thor heard Stark retort. "It's hot-rod red, you uncultured ..." The remainder of Stark's rejoinder was drowned out in repulsor whines as Thor placed Rogers in the medical gurney in the Quinjet. Then, he concentrated on the thin red haze on the very edges of his peripheral vision, expanding his internal sight until he recognized the scarlet tendrils of Wanda's powers as a hazy film covering his vision that deepened the more he concentrated on it. He navigated through the crimson fog and as Wanda and the front porch came back into view. He was surprised to find himself smiling widely.

He met the eyes of Wanda, her lips parted in surprise herself, her hands and eyes still glowing with crimson power. "No one has come out of it before I brought them out," she said, brows furrowing in slight alarm.

Thor smiled. "I am no mortal," he grinned. "I wish to thank you for my memories, though. It is good to remember the Hawk as he was, not as ... " his voice trailed off as his gaze fixed on the grave.

Wanda looked at him with compassion, placing a long hand on his broad arm. "Is this the first mortal friend you have lost?" she said.

"Aye," Thor nodded. "In this manner. A shield brother in battle." He crossed his arms over his massive chest. "One day, perhaps," he said quietly, "I will see him again in Valhalla, should I be judged worthy enough to join him there." He drew his gaze from the grave to inside the house, where Cooper and Lila sat in the dining room, glancing at the macaroni and cheese that Pietro put in front of them. He smiled fondly and chuckled as the children clearly battled over who had more and Pietro looked happily indulgent. Thor's smile grew until it was broad across his face. "Until such time, however, I will entertain his children with play and stories of their father's bravery!" He clapped his hands together loudly and in two massive steps threw open the front door. "Now where is my shield nephew and shield niece! I wish to play 'Uncle Jungle Gym' again!"

Wanda put a restraining hand on Thor's bicep. "Perhaps you should wait until they have finished eating."

Thor's face fell in disappointment. "Ah," he said, coming to the obvious realization. "You are wise. I do not wish to face the wrath of Laura Barton."

Wanda smiled. "Of course not."

Thor turned and walked back in the house, muttering something about the formidability of Bartons as Wanda stared past the grave and out over the hay fields.

Wanda relished the peace of the place. The warmth and the insect sounds soothed her odd sense of loss while the bickering inside between the Captain and Stark, gleefully egged on by Natasha's dry comments and Thor's guffaws filled her with a comraderie she had never felt before, at least not since before they were ten years old and waiting for death.

She rested the front of her hips against the railing of the porch, her hands on her own shoulders and stared into the rising moon and listened to the night. She sensed rather than saw Pietro's blue blur through the front door that Thor had left open. He leaned over, his elbows propping him up on the railing. Their arms and shoulders touched as they silently stared out over the farmland.

"The kitchen is coming along, yes?" Wanda asked into the silence.

"It is getting there, but it would get there quicker if Stark would stop butting in." Pietro's voice held contempt for the man.

Wanda smiled wide. "He does it to get a reaction out of you. It works every time."

Pietro scowled. "He does it intentionally."

"Of course he does," Wanda said. "He's Stark."

"He should tread lightly around you and me."

Wanda nodded, her eyes glowing red briefly. "He should." she said. "But he won't."

"He's an asshole," Pietro repeated.

"Yes he is," Wanda affirmed. Pietro looked over to her, studying his twin's face and her placid, accepting demeanor.

"You can't seriously be thinking of forgiving him?"

Wanda sighed. The world changed dramatically for them over the last two weeks. The homeless orphans had been sheltered in a way she had not expected. She had found a warmth in herself that she had believed to be lost in their apartment building a decade ago. She looked back over her shoulder through the window into the house at the team sitting around the kitchen table. Cooper had sat himself next to the Captain and the boy gazed in awe, running his hand over the famous shield while Steve grinned openly. Lila sat in Natasha's lap at the table, munching on popcorn. At a whisper in her ear from Thor, she launched one popped kernel over her mother's head to hit Cooper on the forehead. Cooper yelled at his sister, Thor laughed, and Laura, fully aware of the popcorn sailing over her, ignored it entirely, too relieved that her children were beginning to act like children again.

Natasha leaned down to whisper in Lila's ear who then looked simultaneously worried and conflicted before Natasha's nod emboldened her. With a wide, devilish smirk that looked incredibly fitting on her young face, Lila twisted in Natasha's grasp and awkwardly side-armed a piece of popcorn over Natasha's head to land perfectly on the top of Stark's, where it settled in the inventor's dark hair. Stark, too focused on some gadget in his hand, hadn't even noticed.

Wanda smiled to herself as she saw Rogers hide a grin behind his hand. Pietro turned to watch through the window as Lila lined up another shot. "I have no intention of forgiving Stark for what he did," Wanda said, her words hardening despite watching another piece of popcorn land on the top of Stark's head. Stark still did not notice and Wanda smirked. "But perhaps it is not about forgiveness." Pietro looked at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "They - the Avengers - gave us an opportunity despite what we did. They welcomed us and I know we both enjoyed fighting for something." Her hand reached out to clasp his, their fingers intertwining. "We have been living out of fear and anger for a long time, Pietro. But now we can do what our parents could not do for us. We can protect ourselves and others."

"Even if that means fighting alongside Stark?" His lips curled up in disgust.

"We've been allowing Stark to control our lives since his bomb destroyed our home." Pietro looked at her sharply. "It was because of anger at Stark that we went to Strucker. It was because of anger at Stark that we chose to endure pain and near-death. Do you remember how your muscles would spasm so badly before the experiments were complete?"

Pietro nodded. "I thought they were going to rip out from under my skin," he said quietly, looking at their linked hands. "I would hear you in my head when your powers started, screaming like I had never heard before." He went silent, trailing off. He drew her to him and placed a kiss on her cheek.

"It would feel like a spike driven from the back of my head through my temple," she whispered. "All of that, and we helped HYDRA do what they did. All because of anger. All because of Stark." She again looked through the windows at the team. Laura was smiling, the first real smile Wanda had seen from the woman. Rogers was beaming at the group, his face settled into almost paternal pride as he surveyed the scene. Cooper had abandoned the shield to analyze Thor's hammer, and he and Thor's heads were dipped conspiratorily over the weapon, Cooper's hand tracing runes while Thor explained the history of each. Natasha chatted with Laura and then occasionally pointed out angles of attack that Lila could try, whispering in the girl's ear. Lila smirked again and angled a piece of popcorn off a cabinet to join the other pieces on a still-unsuspecting Stark's head.

Despite the smiles, the heavy sadness of mourning underscored the fact that there was one person missing from the scene. She heard Pietro sigh next to her. "You make a good point, Sister. Then we stop living our lives based on Stark."

Wanda nodded. "We cannot get rid of Stark and I am sick of being angry. The only alternative would be to leave and to be on our own again," she said.

"We could do that," Pietro said, but his voice held no conviction.

"We could," Wanda confirmed. "But we would have done that already had we wanted to." She looked at him affectionately, placing her palm against his cheek. "And not started to renovate the kitchen. Or cook the meals. Or tuck the kids in to bed. Or ... "

Pietro dropped his gaze sheepishly, some color coming to his cheeks. "Okay, okay. I want to help. I want to protect them as I couldn't protect their father ... " he trailed off.

Together, the twins gazed through the windows. Stark had woken up to the popcorn decorating his head and, surprised and amused, had swung Lila out of Nat's lap, tucked her under his arm and paraded around the room with her. Lila, giggling with delight, had thrown popcorn into the waiting mouths of Cooper, Laura and Thor as Tony spun her around. Even Steve got in on it once or twice. Pietro snaked an arm around his sister's waist. "She has her father's gift," he said quietly, smiling softly. "She will be formidable."

Wanda nodded as she watched Thor place Cooper on his shoulders as Lila's popcorn bombardment continued. "So we stay," she said quietly. "In spite of Stark."

Pietro nodded. "Partially to spite Stark," he said, grinning. "It will be fun to mess with him." Wanda grinned broadly as she felt Pietro leave her side, the wind blowing her hair in her face. In a blink, he was inside, snatching Lila out of Stark's arms as the girl giggled louder. Wanda laughed out loud at the look of outright indignation on Stark's face once Stark realized he no longer had the child.

Wanda gathered the shawl around herself and walked through the front door, throwing a thin tendril of energy at a chair, jutting it out into Stark's path and tripping him. Wanda smiled as Cooper laughed and Lila peppered Stark with popcorn as he recovered.

Wanda could see the undercurrent of sadness in this place in the dark circles and puffiness of eyes, the bone-deep fatigue, the second guessing and the could-I-have-done-mores. But it was because of that man that there was life here, and hope.

It was time for her and Pietro to remember what that was like.

TBC


	11. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: My apologies for the delay in posting, but I hope this chapter and the one following serves to help that. As always, please read and review. I love the feedback and I really take it to heart in order to do right by you folks.

After

Chapter 9

The sun had just began to come up when Pietro had heard the Captain stirring. Pietro put down his current project on the front porch and climbed up the steps to knock on the Captain's door. He accidentally interrupted his Captain's morning calithenics in his impromptu sleeping quarters: Laura's office with a couple of pillows and sheets on the couch. Pietro wanted to know from the Captain what happened next - if he and Wanda were truly welcome into this group and the team.

"You fought alongside us against Ultron. You've been here during this time. Why do you question that now?" the Captain said, holding Pietro's gaze as he finished his pull-up reps, the tips of his fingers with a tenuous grasp on the 1/4 inch of trim around the door frame of the closet.

Pietro had shrugged. "We have done many things you would not agree with. We fought against you."

Steve relaxed his grip on the door frame, dropping and straightening in front of Pietro. "Kid, being a part of the Avengers isn't about being an angel. Every single one of us has a past. I've killed in service to my country and will do so again if necessary. Romanoff has earned her call name of Black Widow. I don't have to tell you about Tony's history. Barton," his voice paused briefly and he unconscious glanced in the direction of the oak tree, "Barton was the world's foremost sniper and killed people for a living.

"Being an Avenger isn't about being perfect. It's about believing in the greater good and fighting for it, no matter what it takes. It's about having the backs of each other and protecting every single innocent person out there. As long as you can do that, as long as you can put the team and the world ahead of yourself, then you're one of us. Do you think you can do that?"

Pietro met the Captain's eyes. "I ... I do not know," he admitted. "I do not know if I can do what Barton did to save Costel. I don't know if I'm capable."

The Captain smiled and shook his head, placing his large hand on Pietro's slimmer shoulder. "Pietro, you tried to save them both. Clint was right when he told your sister she was on the team and he had a very good eye." Steve half-smiled. "If you'll pardon the pun."

Steve bent over to grab his shoes, sitting on the couch as he laced them up, tying the laces with a final tug. "I'm going for a jog. Would you like to join me?"

Pietro laughed loudly. "Captain, I don't think that would end well for you."

Steve smiled openly this time, standing and again clapping Pietro on the shoulder. "Maybe not. But you're the only one in this place that can beat me in a foot race and I'd love the challenge. Think about it for next time."

As Steve's steps echoed on the wooden floors, Pietro heard him go down the steps and outside the front door. Pietro sat on the couch that Steve had vacated, his back to the open window and the wood paneling of the wall.

At first, he simply closed his eyes and listened to the open window at his back. It was soothing. He had been up all night finishing the kitchen and then beginning on the porch. He heard the morning calls of completely unfamiliar birds and the breeze moving through the high grass and trees. The pleasant peacefulness lulled him into a warm and cozy doze and he faded into a semi-consciousness that he was very familiar with. His mind traveled down lazy rabbit trails as he body sunk down into the cushions.

Then he suddenly realized that it was much later in the morning than it had been. The Captain's running shoes were lined up neatly next to the door and a blanket had been draped over Pietro's legs.

He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to interrupt the warmth spreading through him. His mind, for the first time in a while, was quiet. There were no ideas, no emotions racing through his mind as quickly as mercury. No thoughts, no doubts, just peace and quiet.

The breeze and the birds still filtered through the open window, but a different noise joined it. Behind him, talking quietly in the yard below the window, were two young voices. Pietro stayed very still to hear them and to prevent them from hearing him.

"Cooper," Lila said, drawing the name out to show her impatience, "I don't want to play with that!"

"Lila," Cooper said in a supremely grave and serious tone that only children can manage, "Mr. Stark gave this to us to play with. It's really cool the way it works. Look at the way it moves!"

"Cooper," Lila said again, her tone suddenly serious. "I want to go to the woods. I want to climb trees like we did before."

Cooper got very quiet and Pietro thought he could hear the sound of the boy shifting. "I don't want to go to the woods. We have to walk past the oak tree in the front to get to the woods."

Lila got quiet, too before she hesitantly spoke again. "Do you think Daddy gets lonely down there? Under the tree all by himself?" she asked. Pietro gasped quietly, his heart clenching.

"Not if we visit him, I guess. And Uncle Cap says that he's not really gone if we remember him. "

Lila's voice was quiet and Pietro had to strain to hear her. "But I don't get that. Remembering him isn't the same as him being here. We can't practice shooting if he's only in my memory."

"I asked Uncle Cap the same thing. He said that it was hard to explain, but that it would make more sense when we were older." Pietro could almost hear the frown on the boy's face and the shrug that followed.

"That doesn't make any sense, either. Maybe Uncle Pietro will know. He said he lost his mom and dad when they were kids like us."

Pietro threw the blanket off his legs and sprinted out of the room. In a flash, he was outside and turning the corner to where Lila and Cooper were sitting in the back yard. The children looked up and smiled when he came into view. Lila stood and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Is Daddy lonely?" she asked, her voice muffled against his clothing. He put a hand along her back.

"I do not think he could be, little bird," he said, his accent heavy. "Not with all of these people thinking about him."

Lila and Cooper nodded, as if that put the matter to rest. "But tell you what," Pietro continued. "I think I can get you the three of us to the woods the long way around, and pretty quickly, too. What do you think?"

Lila smiled widely and Cooper grinned. "You run very fast, Uncle Pietro," Cooper said. "But Lila runs pretty fast, too."

Lila nodded, braids bouncing against her shoulder. "I'm the fastest in the whole school! Even against the older kids! We should race!"

"But what about Cooper? We can't leave him behind." Pietro teased.

"Pick him up!" Lila said, determined childlike smirk widening. "He's not as fast as us, but maybe that will give me a fair shot to win!" Pietro laughed as he hoisted Cooper up on to his shoulders, and Cooper wrapped his arms around the top of Pietro's head.

"Okay," Cooper yelled. "Get ready! Get set!"

"GO!" Lila yelled, taking off as fast as her little legs could carry her.

"HEY!" Cooper laughed as Pietro recovered from being flat-footed. "No cheating, Lila! You can't cheat!" Pietro adjusted his hold on Cooper's legs and jogged slowly to catch up to the racing little girl, laughing the entire way.

Laura sighed and smiled warmly as she watched Pietro and Cooper jog after a racing Lila. She rested her aching, swollen body against the windowsill before turning to sit down on one of the benches in the sun room.

Tony strode in to the room, watching Pietro with the kids race around the tire swing and back into the woods. "Good to see that Quickie's getting some exercise," he said drolly.

"Well, you know," Laura said tiredly, "have to keep him occupied before he decides to sand and restain the hardwood."

A look of concern crossed Tony's face for an instant. "You don't have to, you know. I can hire some guys to ..."

Laura waved the comment away. "I was kidding," she murmured before looking at Tony seriously, her hand on her belly. "I wanted to thank you, Tony."

Tony's brow furrowed in confusion while Laura shrugged. "For what?"

"For being here. For helping to protect this place and us. For being Clint's friend. Having you here has been very comforting."

Tony smiled. "Of course. You and the kids won't have to worry about anything. We'll be here whenever you need us. I just hope I'll still be invited."

Laura smiled up at him. "Of course, Tony. You of all people have an open invitation. I only have one request."

Tony smirked and cocked an eyebrow curiously.

"Bring Pepper," Laura said. "Nat, Wanda and I are out-numbered." Tony laughed, a smile coming to his brown eyes.

"Of course. She wanted to come up, but we'll be leaving soon and ..."

Laura nodded before he finished his sentence. "Next time. Next time is fine. Maybe in about a week in a half? If you guys leave on Thursday like you've planned, that will be a week later."

Tony nodded. "We'll be there." He smiled as he walked out of the sun room.

Laura smiled as she searched the tree-line for signs of her children and Pietro. She could not see them, but she could hear them playing among the branches. She again wrapped her hands around her belly. "Well, Nathaniel," she said under her breath. "You're going to have one hell of a weird family."

*******

TBC


	12. Chapter 10

After

Chapter 10

Laura noticed that almost a month after Ultron, the house felt emptier than ever before as the team slowly and regretfully left.

Thor was the first to leave. As enthusiastic in his farewell as a love sick pit bull, he embraced each of the Bartons in turn, tossing Lila in the air and placing his huge hand on Cooper's shoulder before promising to be back once the smallest Barton made his appearance.

Tony, Steve and the twins loaded up in SHIELD's quinjet several days later to return to New York, Stark's brain already turning on a new facility. The kids almost fell apart when the group headed out, refusing to end the desperate hugs before Steve promised they would be back soon.

Natasha stayed, but even she felt the paradigm shift in the house without Clint's presence. It was quieter, certainly, and somehow larger without him. Laura shifted uncomfortably on the couch. In her last days of pregnancy, she ruefully had to admit that she had the mobility of a large blimp. Natasha handed her a cup of tea, the kids already asleep upstairs. They sat on the couch together, sipping tea and sitting in companionable silence together as they stared out into the mild evening. The windows were open and a breeze blew the curtains askew. Laura leaned her head against Natasha's shoulder. Natasha smiled lightly before her mouth hardened.

"What are you thinking about, Nat?"

"After all that's happened in the last month, I don't think you should give the baby my name. He should have Clint's." Natasha said directly, sipping her tea and not looking Laura in the eye.

"That's not going to happen," Laura said, just as directly. "You know Clint wanted the baby named after you. I want the baby named after you, too."

"But Laura ..." Natasha began.

"No, Natasha," Laura said. "Clint was here for his kids, for me, because of you. We wanted the baby named after someone who was close to this family. Someone who saved this family as many times as you saved Clint's life."

Natasha's jaw tightened. "Laura, I'm no hero ..."

Laura reached out and took her hand. "Yes, Nat, you are. You are to me, to Clint and to our kids. Never forget that."

Natasha shook her head, allowing the matter to drop. "What does the doctor say?" she asked, changing the subject.

Laura shifted again, placing a hand on her belly, the soft light from a side lamp making the room glow warmly. "Soon. Any day now." She smiled. "Any day now and I can finally have my body to myself again," she sighed contentedly, looking over at Natasha and squeezing her hand. "Thank you for staying, Nat. It's easier having you here. Having someone with me."

Natasha met her eyes and her lips quirked into a smile. "Someone will always be looking in on you and the kids."

"I know," Laura smiled. "But maybe when Nate finally gets here it could be more often." She let that thought trail off as her face tightened. "Clint was my home. I have no blood relations. I want the kids to know the family they have left. Even if they wear metal and spandex in their daily lives."

Natasha left the couch and looked out into the night sky towards where the quinjet landing landing pad was concealed in the trees. Her back was to Laura and her arms were crossed over her chest. "That ups the risk, Laura. You know that."

Laura chuckled darkly. "My husband was an assassin. There was always risk, Nat. At least this way I'd have more contact with you guys if something happened."

"And be more directly in the line of fire. More exposed. That's not what Clint wanted."

Natasha heard Laura sigh softly as silence fell between them.

Laura shifted on the couch, sliding a pillow behind her back in an attempt to get more comfortable. It failed. "Clint wanted us to be happy, and we were. But he's gone now. I miss him, Nat, and I want to be near those who meant so much to him," she said, her voice breaking. Natasha turned to face her. Laura's face had crumbled and fresh tears coursed down her face. "I miss him so much."

Natasha dropped her eyes and let her arms fall by her side. "I know, Laura. I do, too," she said, feeling her throat swell and her eyes burn.

"I hate feeling this way! I hate ... this!" Laura said, gesturing to her tears, her voice raising. In two steps, Natasha was again by her side on the couch. "I can't stand that sometimes, just for a second, I forget and I turn a corner and expect to see him! Or I make a note to tell him about something ..." she stopped dead, letting out a sob, "before remembering." Natasha intertwined her arm with Laura's and Laura leaned her head against Natasha's shoulder. Natasha's face was screwed up in an unfamiliar way.

"I look at his clothes in the closet," Laura continued, "and I wonder when he's finally going stop warehousing arrowheads and fletching in the bedroom so we can store the baby clothes in there." A great sob escaped her, eyes streaming and face red from anger and grief and emotion. Natasha's breath hitched as she choked on her breath. Natasha felt tears fall down her own cheeks, her breath taken from the unfamiliar feeling while her stomach clenched.

"And I look at the closet," Laura pressed on through her sobs, "and I realize that it's all me now. That he's gone. He's not coming back. And those arrowheads and fletching mean nothing anymore!" she screamed, face falling into her hands.

Natasha breathed into the evening air. She had been expecting this from Laura. She had actually been concerned that it hadn't happened before. Laura had been too contained. Too guarded around the kids and the team. She needed catharsis. It was a feeling Natasha knew well.

"But that's not even the worst part," Natasha began, her voice heavy and determined despite her wet cheeks.

Laura shook her head tearfully. "No, it's not."

Natasha felt that ulcerated aching pit open in her chest and her eyes and nose started running of their own accord. She was surprised to hear her breath hitch around the tightness in her throat when she spoke. "The worst part is knowing that it will all eventually go away. That we will get used to living without him. Of watching our own backs because he's not there to do it anymore. And moving him from the what is to the what was, that seems like ..." she halted suddenly.

"A betrayal" Laura spat softly, nodding.

Silence fell over the pair again as they sat in the living room sobbing. Laura's hand found Natasha's and gripped it tightly. Together they stared out the bay windows at the fireflies of the evening.

"It's not a betrayal, you know, Nat," Laura said quietly into the still room. "It would be exactly what he would have wanted. It would be healing."

"I know," Natasha said, a strand of red hair falling into her face. "My mind understands that it isn't a betrayal. That it isn't a double-cross of everything we did together and were together." She wiped her eyes and her nose. "But it doesn't stop it from feeling like it is." Laura squeezed Natasha's hand harder and Natasha turned to look at her. Guarded green eyes met expressive brown. Tears rolled down both of their faces.

"I miss him, Laura," Natasha breathed, face breaking and lips pressed together.

"I know, Nat. So do I."

They sat on the couch together, arms intertwined as they watched the moon rise over the fields.  
*******

TBC


	13. Chapter 11

After

Chapter 11

In the end, it was Natasha's call to Assemble for what Tony had deemed "Operation Crowning Achievement." Wanda snorted when he had announced the name with a flourish. She made a pointed comment about how it would be Laura, not any of them, doing all the work. Steve had only muttered something about the name's crudeness before leaving the room. Pietro followed after him, inquiring about the significance of the name. "Well, ahhh ... " Steve stuttered, an unfamiliar red rising to his cheeks, "uh, when the, well, the head of the baby ... uh, comes out of, well, out of the mother's ..." Steve's voice trailed off as he left the room, Pietro with him.

The plan itself was simple. Upon getting the call at the first sign of labor, Pietro and Wanda would head directly to the Barton farm to handle Cooper and Lila. This was Phase 1. Subduing the older Barton children, excited that both Aunt Wanda and Uncle Quickie were visiting and that their little brother would finally be making an appearance, proved to be nearly too much for the super-powered twins. Apparently the Barton kids were diabolically strategic when they joined forces. Cooper distracted and Lila pounced, and the ensuing giggles would ensure they never got in trouble.

Phase 2 had Steve and Tony awaiting the go-ahead from Natasha when active labor was confirmed. At which point, they and an adamant Pepper - who refused to be left behind again - would go directly to the hospital until the staff allowed them in. Keeping Tony occupied and calm during the hours between Phase 1 and Phase 2 had not been thought necessary. They had been mistaken.

Tony's pacing across the living room of Avengers' Tower and Steve's continued and near-constant litany of "Tony. Tony. Calm down, Tony. Sit down, Tony. Tony, stop pacing" had worn on Pepper's nerves so badly that at Steve's tenth iteration of "you'll wear a hole in the floor", she finally stood, snatched Tony's phone out of his furiously texting hands, and strode out of the room, informing Natasha that she, and not Tony, would be main point of contact moving forward.

Natasha's texted response was a quick, "Oh, thank God."

It was not the quick and uncomplicated labor and delivery that they were hoping for. Once Tony, Steve and Pepper had been called in, there were still several hours of waiting to be had. Natasha, with Laura on the other side of the double swinging doors that separated the waiting room from the delivery ward, gave regular updates of progress, of frightening dips in fetal heart rates, and of something called nuchal cords that had Tony, Steve and Pepper pacing the floor in agitation.

At least once, Steve had to physically restrain Tony from calling his OBGYN contact in NYC. "Steve, I gotta know," Tony said. "This is Clint's wife. His baby boy. I gotta know what this stuff means."

Pepper gripped Tony's arm, eyes pleading for more information as well. "Tony's right, Steve. Clint was close. Laura's close now, too."

Steve put his hand up to stop the discussion. "You think I don't get that? I'm concerned, too. Laura and the kids are family. But we have no power here." Tony grunted in response, but Steve continued. "We know nothing about this."

"Exactly!" Tony and Pepper said together.

Steve nodded again. "But the person who does, whose decision it is - Laura - is calling the shots on this. We've already had this discussion, and you know it."

"Steve, c'mon!" Tony persisted. "We have to figure out what's going on. We can help."

"Laura will tell us how we can help," Steve said, raising his voice.

Tony threw his hands up, made a half turn, and then stepped back up, sharp, panicked brown eyes glaring upwards into strong, firm, blue. "Damn you, Rogers. I won't lose another Barton because ..." Tony spat.

Steve's arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed at the implication Tony was making. "Because what? Because I respect Laura's wishes?" Steve shot back, eyes flashing. Tony snorted and Pepper moved in between the two men, hands on Tony's chest as she tried to guide him back.

A firm authoritarian voice carried through the otherwise empty waiting room. "We won't lose another Barton," Nick Fury said, striding through the doors from the delivery ward. "At least not today."

"How'd you ..." Stark stuttered as Fury approached dressed in a pair of canary yellow scrubs complete with paper gown and little pink booties. His hands swung by his side.

Steve took a step back and titled his head at not only Fury's sudden appearance but the blatant change from his usual wardrobe. "That's a good look for you, Fury."

Fury raised an eyebrow and half-smiled, but otherwise ignored the comment. "There's something the two of you need to understand and it's very simple." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Your egos mean nothing here. This is about that woman," he pointed over his shoulder to the double doors he had just come through, "who is doing her damndest to bring her child into this world."

Rogers looked down as Fury continued, but Tony stepped up to meet Fury's gaze. "That's what we're trying to help her do and if they would let us back there ..."

Fury leveled a withering look with his one eye. "You would only get in the way," Fury said, finishing Tony's sentence. "Which would distract Laura and cause her more stress than she already has. No one wants to watch Natasha take you down and carry you both out of here, at least not right now. So you," he jabbed a finger into Tony's chest, "sit down and let the people who actually know what they're doing take care of Laura. You think that with her contacts we don't already have the best of the best back there?"

"Her contacts?" Tony asked, taken aback and confusion on his face.

Fury titled his head in disbelief. "Yeah, Stark. Her contacts. You think she just appeared out of thin air? That she had no identity outside of being Barton's wife and mother of his children?"

Tony and Steve exchanged surprised and embarrassed looks. Pepper hid an amused smile behind her hand. Tony looked at her. "You knew that? How did you know that?"

Pepper smiled openly. "I asked her."

"Hawkeye wasn't the only one in the Barton family who liked to keep secrets." Fury continued. "That woman is one of the finest forensic psychologists we've ever had on the payroll. Did you think she stayed married to Barton for so damn long without psychological training?"

"Well, I thought ..." Tony started, but Fury cut him off, already rounding on Steve.

"And you, Cap," Fury's rant continued. "Stop riling him up! Laura doesn't need a knight in shining armor. She needs to focus on herself and not have to worry about you two acting like junior high kids. We can hear you screaming at each other from down the hall."

Steve's jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Tony followed Pepper back to an uncomfortable chair and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest. Fury looked expectantly at Steve, who also sat obediently in the closest chair. Fury spun in his yellow scrubs and paper gown - with pink booties - and strode through the doors, sighing and shaking his head. He muttered something about "super egos," "annoying the shit out of me, " and "maybe I should let Romanoff ..." before the doors swung shut behind him.

Ten minutes passed in silence as the hospital staff, stunned into watching the entire proceedings, resumed their previous activities while keeping a wary eye on the two overly muscled men sitting two seats away from each other in the first row of the light blue chairs.

Tony took a deep breath into the quiet. "I still think ..."

Rogers sighed and dropped his head into his hands before shooting Pepper a pleading look. "Tony," Pepper admonished lightly, smoothing the hair on the back of his head. "Just don't."

Tony looked at her, a sour expression on his face, before taking her hand. "You're right, Pep. You're right." Steve sighed in relief and joined in Tony's vigil of staring pensively at the double delivery ward doors. Together, they waited.

It was Fury who strode through the doors 90 minutes later. The paper gown was gone, but the yellow scrubs remained. His smile was wide and beaming and Steve marveled at how natural it looked on him. Steve shot to his feet at the sight of him and Tony nudged Pepper, who was dozing against his shoulder.

"Nathaniel Clinton Barton. Nine pounds, ten ounces, twenty-one inches. Laura is doing well. There were some complications during delivery, but Little Nate is doing well now. Laura's cleaned up and Nate's had his first feeding." Fury smirked. "Laura's asking for you guys."

They clustered together as they followed Fury through the swinging doors, taking several turns down the hallway, grim-faced suited SHIELD agents stationed at every corner. They reached a private suite at the far end of the hall. They opened the door and blinked at the sight.

Laura, exhausted but smiling softly, watched as Natasha held Nathaniel in her arms, rocking him back and forth and singing a quiet Russian lullaby. The newborn was swaddled head-to-toe in a white blanket, his face scrunched up in sleep. Some fuzzy straw-colored hair peaked out from under the small lilac beanie on the top of his tiny head. His mouth was pursed into a tiny rosebud as his tongue worked in his sleep. Natasha looked up at Steve's quiet gasp, smiling and walking over to them. "Nate," Laura said sleepily from the bed, "meet your Uncles Steve and Tony and your Aunt Pepper." Steve took a small step forward and reached out to touch the newborn, hesitating when his hand reached halfway. He looked between Laura and Natasha questioningly. Natasha smiled, reaching out to Steve with one hand to move his massive arms into the appropriate position. She then deposited to newborn into the cradle of his biceps and forearms.

Steve stood rigid as the baby opened and closed his lips in response, but otherwise didn't move. Steve shot a panicked looked at Fury, who laughed. "Relax, Rogers," Natasha said. "He doesn't bite."

"At least not yet," Laura said whimsically.

Steve's huge form looked both ridiculous and terrified as he peered down into the face of Clint and Laura's son. The newborn was smaller than Steve's forearm and Steve held him like he might shatter in his arms. He felt Tony and Pepper come up beside him, peering into the child's scrunched up face. Pepper cooed at the boy, and Tony tentatively brushed his finger across the baby's cheek. Steve searched the boy's face. Under the pink pudginess, he recognized the square bone structure, the jaw line, and the nose.

"He looks like Clint," Tony breathed.

Steve's brow furrowed at the fantastically bittersweet moment, staring into the face of Clint's son. It was a privilege that Clint himself would never get. Steve swelled with pride and at the same time felt like he had been punched in the gut. His met eyes with Tony, and between them they knew. Clint's children would remind them what they were meant to do.

Clint's absence would be the reason they would stay together.

 

TBC


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Well, folks, this is it: the last installment of After. I wanted to thank everyone who has been reading, leaving kudos, leaving comments and following this story from the beginning to the end. I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed sharing it with you. Please read and comment.
> 
> After watching Civil War (OMG, the Russo brothers are my new heroes), I have another plot bunny in my mind that is something of an opposing AU to this one. It's in the very beginning stages, so I'll have to hurry it along, I suppose.
> 
> Again, thanks for reading and commenting. It does this heart good.

After

Epilogue

She didn't know how this was going to end.

The long-familiar quiver felt very dense against her back. She tightened her grip around her bow, the leather of her bracers creaking. She stood in the tactical room of the Avengers facility, staring into the focused gray eyes of her father.

After his death fourteen years ago, the Avengers had reserved a corner of one of the quieter gathering places to her father's memory. His bow remained here, preserved on a small stand, surrounded by an encased selection of his specialized arrows. His purple and black tactical vest and coat were also there, surrounded by three or four pictures of Hawkeye being Hawkeye: back flipping off an exploding building, dashing across a dead power line ten stories up, or grinning while nailing Thor precisely in the center of the back of his golden-locked head.

Lila loved looking at the these pictures of her father. They did not have many photos of him from when he was alive; SHIELD spies needed anonymity after all. The picture she looked at now, however, was her favorite. He was in uniform and the black fletching of half of dozen arrows were visible over his shoulder visible despite the close angle on his face. His keen eyes were focused intently on some target off camera, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. His mouth was quirked up in a self-satisfied smirk. It was a look that Lila didn't remember ever seeing on his face: simultaneously intense and mischievious. Other than the memories Wanda gave her, Lila didn't have much specific recollection of her father, only vague impressions of trees, targets, her father's smile, and of warmth, love, and longing. Lila looked down, sighing. She didn't know if she had thanked Wanda enough for the memories she did have of her dad.

After Nate had been born, Lila had spent more and more time at the Avengers facility, trying to know her father through her superhero family. She had grown up training hand-to-hand with Natasha, learning tactics from Steve, planning tactical - and, let's face it, overly flashy - arrowheads with Tony, and learning how to shoot distances from Bucky. She had inherited her father's acumen for a stick and string from the paleolithic area. It had left her body strong, her mind sharp, and her vision, well, like a hawk's.

Four years ago, after Steve had been shot and killed on the courthouse steps, she had followed Cooper, the analyst, into making the Avengers facility her home. She was barely 16 at the time. Her mother had protested, but it had simply felt right. Standing in the Avengers facility, her brown eyes flicked to the other shrine of sorts, Steve's shield prominently displayed ten feet away.

She missed them both.

"Hey, Hawkeye," a deep male voice drifted over to her from the door. She turned, her older brother leaning casually against the door frame.

Lila smirked. "Don't call me that, Coop," she smiled, looking at her older brother. Her brothers were a study in opposites. Cooper took after their mom. Dark hair currently tied back into a loose pony tail, his khakis and polo shirt would have fit in at any business-casual luncheon. He had followed in his mother's footsteps professionally as well and now used his higher degrees in cognitive science and psychology to analyze how targets and potential targets - human, alien and machine - would act and react in a given situation. It was enormously integral to everyone on the Team coming back alive.

Cooper's large, dark eyes looked at his sister with a combination of pride and worry, gesturing over his shoulder. "They're finishing up with loading the Quinjet. You going to that party or not?"

Lila smiled, gesturing down to her tactical uniform. "What do you think?" she smirked, her eyebrow arching under her dark pixie cut.

In homage, she wore a vest much like her father's, black with an arrow-shaped splash of purple across the chest. That's where the similarities ended, though. Large armored bracers covered her forearms, capable of providing an extra shock to her hand-to-hand skills. Her upper arms were covered a thin black metallic micro-armor that was nearly as impact resistant as kevlar and several thousand times more flexible. The right side of her vest tapered to a point to just below her right knee in a mottled purple and storm gray. Side arms were strapped securely to each thigh, in easy reach should she need them. The micro armor pants faded from black at her belt to a medium gray at her boots. She had knives and additional ammunition hidden under tactical vest at her athletic waist. On her back was her quiver with purple and gray fletchings.

Cooper smiled at the sight of his sister in her brand-new tactical gear. "You look badass." He said, finally.

Lila smiled and raised an eyebrow. "That's because I am badass."

Cooper laughed. "Whatever, Lila. I can still kick your butt like when we were kids."

"No, you can't Coop."

"Sure I can."

Lila raised her eyebrows increduously. She pointed to herself. "Personally trained by the Black Widow. " She pointed to Cooper. "Plays on computers all day."

Cooper smiled and shrugged his shoulders, putting on an air of mock sheepishness. "Yeah, okay," he said. "It does hurt my ego that my little sister can beat me up, though."

"Your Avenger little sister," Lila corrected as Cooper joined her by their father's shrine.

"Ah, c'mon," Cooper protested, "you guys wouldn't even know what direction to head in without me and my team. You'd just be sitting here with your thumbs up your asses without me to tell you where to go and what to do."

Lila considered his statement, moving her head from shoulder to shoulder. "Okay, maybe," she conceded.

The brother and sister leaned up against one another and looked at the pictures of their father. "God, I sometimes forget how much Nate looks like him," Cooper breathed. "The sandy hair, the steel eyes, the ..."

"Horrible sense of humor," Lila finished. Her older brother leaned over to give her a kiss on the temple.

"Dad'd be proud of you, y'know," Cooper said, throwing an arm over her shoulders and pulling her into a hug, avoiding getting fletching in his face out of long practice.

"He'd be proud of us, Coop."

Cooper pulled away, looking into his sister's keen eyes. "You think? How do you know?"

She smiled and shrugged, placing a gauntleted hand against his cheek. The fabric was heavy against Cooper's skin. "Because he was Dad," she said.

Lila's hand suddenly went to her ear, her eyes shifting to focus on the floor. Her playful smirk disappearing behind a sudden mask of professionalism. "It's Natasha over the comms," Lila stated, wincing slightly. "She gave the call to Assemble and I'm not there."

Cooper cocked an eyebrow and laughed. "Pissing off your C.O. is not the way to start your first mission in the field."

Lila winced again. "I know. I have to run." She collapsed her bow and slipped it into the locking mechanism on her quiver and turned to go. She halted and turned back to her brother. "Dad would have been horrified with Nate, though. What's that kid want to be?"

Cooper laughed. "A lawyer." Lila groaned. "But he's only fourteen. Give the kid some time. We can still save him from that fate."

"Yeah, whatever. He's got ..."

Friday's voice interrupted them, echoing throughout the facility, dry with ... was that amusement in her artificial voice? "The Black Widow would like to remind 'Young Miss Hawkeye' that she has, and I quote, 'Damn big shoes to fill' and that if she wants 'to shoot at something other than the firing range for the next six months' she better get to the Quinjet immediately."

Lila gave Cooper a panicked look as he laughed. She sprinted out of the room. "Come back in one piece, Lila!" he called as she vaulted over the railing of the balcony overlooking the Quinjet hanger. She had no problem handling the 16-foot drop to the floor, rolling as she landed and springing to her feet smoothly. She called back to Cooper.

"I'll do my damndest, Coop!"

Cooper watched Lila sprint across the hanger. Natasha stood by the lowered ramp of the Quinjet, impatient and completely still. Wanda stood nearby, smiling broadly as Pietro doubled over laughing as Lila ran up the ramp, pushing past a serene but amused Vision. Scott made some comment that Cooper could not hear from his vantage point, and Lila shot Ant-Man an intense look.

Cooper heard footsteps behind him as he leaned against the railing of the balcony, watching the Quinjet ramp close and take-off procedures initiate. He gave the approaching Tony a welcoming nod. Tony had aged dramatically in the past fourteen years, the deaths of his friends hitting him hard. His black hair was now gray at the temples and salt-and-pepper throughout.

"She'll be okay," Tony said, leaning over the railing to watch the Quinjet depart.

Cooper chuckled darkly, but the smile on his face disappeared. "You don't know that, Tony."

Tony nodded, pursing his lips. "You're right. But she's watching the backs of the best there are. They'll take care of her." Cooper nodded but stayed silent.

Companionable silence stretched between them as they watched the Quinjet take off and disappear into the afternoon sky. "You ever regret retiring, Tony?" Cooper asked, straightening up. "Ever want to get back in the game?"

Tony looked away. "It was different when I was on my own, or it was just the six originals. But now ... now we have mutants and enhanced and inhumans. After your dad and Steve died ..." he trailed off. Tony shook his head slowly, eyes snapping to Cooper's. "No. I don't." He cleared his throat suddenly. "You want a drink, Coop? I sure as hell could use a drink."

Cooper smiled, looking back to where the Quinjet had disappeared on a point on the horizon. "Yeah. That sounds good." Tony clapped his hand on Cooper's shoulder.

As they turned past the room, Tony's eyes fell on the displayed bow and he stopped suddenly. "Your father was a good man. And a good friend," he said thickly. "All this time later, and I still ..." His voice trailed off.

Cooper looked at the bow, the matte black gleaming dully in the lighting. "I miss him," Cooper said.

Tony nodded. "Yeah," he breathed.

"I wish I had known him better."

Tony nodded. "So did he, Coop. So did he."

*******

Laura Barton sat at her kitchen table, knee bouncing restlessly. She spun a glass of red wine slowly, agitatedly watching the light from her bay windows shine through the purplish liquid. Her eyes darted to the photos set up on the island between the kitchen and the dining room. They could never take many family pictures while Clint was alive, so Laura then over compensated and covered her house in them. The pictures were of her kids, of their aunts and uncles, of her adopted brothers and sisters. Nat's bright hair stood out in many photos and another had a teenaged Lila's head ducked in deep conversation with Steve.

Another one had Cooper, nearly 20 years old at the time, laughing as Pietro as a blue blur willfully clipped Tony, causing Tony to lose his balance. It was a favorite past time of Pietro's and it never failed to get a laugh out of Cooper no matter what he and Tony had been working on immediately prior to the interruption.

There was a photo of Thor balancing all three Barton kids on his shoulders and arms. Nate had been five and his self-satisfied smirk as he hung from Thor's left bicep stopped Laura's breath. He had Clint's smile. Bruce even appeared in a picture or two. His presence with the team had been sporadic at best, often appearing and reappearing suddenly. When he was around, he spent little time at the farmhouse.

"Laura," Friday's voice echoed from hidden speakers in the ceiling. "Sam and Nate would like me to inform you that they are back from their run."

Laura smiled. "Thank you, Friday," Laura said indulgently.

Within seconds, the proximity notification on the front porch chimed softly. They were one of the many upgrades Tony, Steve and Rhodey had made to the farm. "For safety" Rhodey had said seriously.

"And for fun," Tony had chimed in.

"Hey, Mom!" she heard Nate call from the porch steps, his feet echoing along with Sam's. "I beat my best time! I beat Sam!" he said, walking into the living room, red-faced with his sandy hair plastered against his head. He was streaming sweat and breathing deeply.

"He sure did," Sam said, bending over and making a show of catching his breath. "And even if I hadn't gotten that cramp in my hamstring, I still wouldn't have won!"

Laura stood and kissed her son, gawky and already taller than she was. "I'm proud of you, Nate. Why don't you head upstairs and get a shower? You stink!" Nate beamed, his gray eyes wide and happy.

"Sure!" he said, patting Sam's shoulder. "Rematch sometime soon, old man!" he laughed, walking up the stairs, still huffing and puffing.

Once out of ear shot, Sam straightened up. Laura raised an eyebrow. "You let him win, didn't you?"

Sam smiled, suddenly no longer out of breath. "Of course I did. That kid's got a competitive streak a mile wide. He wasn't going to make the distance if he didn't leave something in reserves." Laura smiled. Her and Sam's shared training in psychology had often led to late-night discussions about theory and human behavior. It had also led to a brief romance between the two of them when Nate was younger, but it had not lasted by mutual decision. Nevertheless, they had remained friends. It was nice to have someone to talk to.

Sam's voice grew serious and he nodded towards the cell phone sitting on the table. "Hear anything yet?" he asked.

Laura shook her head, resuming her vigil at the kitchen table. Sam grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and then joined her at the table. "It bugs me that I wasn't on this one, but they didn't need much air support. I would have liked to keep an eye on her."

Laura smiled. "You would know more than me. I hate waiting by the phone and I always have. This one's pretty bad, though. It's Lila's first op."

Sam smiled. "Coop said the same thing. I know she'll be fine."

"You don't know that, Sam," she said, giving him a meaningful look.

The phone on the table vibrated and Laura's hand snapped out to grab it. "Nat?"

Natasha's voice filled her ear. Her voice had always been authoritative, but now it contained layers that it hadn't before Clint's death. Bucky's return had given some of her life back, but she had also spent the last 14 years missing her partner and the toll showed, even on her. "Everyone's fine, Laura," Natasha said, a smile creeping into her voice. "We all came back without a scratch on us." Laura met eyes with Sam to her right and nodded. Sam smiled, put a hand on her shoulder, kissed her temple and went up stairs to take a shower.

"How did Lila do?" she asked.

Natasha's voice echoed with sarcastic merriment. "Laura, I can't give out mission details."

"She's my kid, Nat."

"She's an Avenger, Laura," Natasha chuckled, and then her voice softened. She sighed into Laura's patient silence. "She did well, Laura. Very well. Served her role perfectly."

Laura let out a breath, the tension easing in her chest. "Good," she said. "Good. We just recognized the 14th anniversary of Clint's death. I was hoping her first mission wasn't going to become ... I don't know, symbolic?"

Natasha chuckled. "Thankfully, no. But you and Nate should come down to the facility this weekend, though. We're having a thing for Wanda and Pietro's birthday."

"We'll be there. Cooper already mentioned it."

"Great. Looking forward to seeing you, hon."

"You, too, Nat." Laura hung up and put the phone on the table. She again gazed over to the lines of pictures on the island. A large picture near the center, a gift from Tony, had Clint smirking out at her. Her husband's gray eyes stared back at her, the eyes crinkled in sardonic amusement. Next to that was a picture of the Bartons sitting around the kitchen table just a few years ago. She was at the head, gray streaking her hair. She was in an in-depth conversation with Cooper, who had grown from a shy, gentle boy to a strapping, confident man. Lila sat to her left, her still-long sandy hair tied back into a pony tail, her quiver still on her back from target practice in the apple grove. In the picture, Lila was smiling around a bit of food, looking at the youngest who had clearly just said something smart to Sam behind the camera. Nate looked serious and focused into the camera lens, his sandy hair spiked and unkempt, his gray-blue eyes flashing with concealed mirth. He looked so much like Clint.

Laura's gaze filtered to the empty chair on the other end of the oblong table at which she sat, a small plush hawk sitting in front of it on the table. It was macabre, Laura knew, to keep an empty seat for a dead man, but she did it as much for her kids as she did for the team. She wanted everyone to remember the hero who sat there and why he wasn't there anymore.

Sam had added the stuffed animal as a lighthearted tribute a couple of years before. He had simply smiled and dropped the gray and black plush creature, citing "birds of a feather" as his only explanation. And so the hawk had stayed.

Laura shifted her gaze outside the bay windows again, looking at the oak tree in the front and the stone underneath it as she wrapped her hands around her wine glass. She suppressed the long-present feeling of anxiety when it came to the welfare of her team and sighed.

She didn't know how this whole thing would end for her, for her kids, or for their team, but she did know it would be one hell of a journey.

*******

 

The End.


End file.
